


First Blood

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Mission Arc [3]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 05:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17258630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: An early mission for Hannibal and his team doesn't work out the way it should, and Face is left to pay the price. Set pre-movie (1992).Warnings: this fic does contain some scenes of violence





	First Blood

Hannibal looked up at the wrought iron sign hanging above the Holy Trinity Orphanage gates as he walked underneath it and into the concrete front yard. He had known, of course, that Face had grown up in various orphanages across the city, but somehow walking into this sombre and quite austere building brought it home in a way it had never felt real before.

 

He thought back to his own upbringing – his father was an army man so they had moved around a lot, an awful lot, but wherever they had stayed had always felt like home. John Smith was the baby of the family, an elder brother and an elder sister, he'd somehow always known that his addition to the family was unplanned. That, however, never made any difference to his family who all treasured their baby and his upbringing had been full of fun and love. He walked up to the huge dark wood doors, wondering what it had been like to call this place home, and felt a pang of sympathy for his lieutenant.

 

The doors flew open just as Hannibal reached for them and around seven or eight youngsters tore past him and down the steps, shrieking and laughing as they went. Hannibal was caught off guard and wondered if he were witnessing some kind of escape attempt and whether he should stop it, when a nun burst out of the door behind them. “Children!” she called, laughing as she did, “Wait for me! There’ll be no ice creams without me; I'm the one with the money!”

 

The children had stopped anyway and were swinging around the gate posts waiting impatiently for her to catch up. “Come on Sister Theresa!” one of the children called back, “All the ice cream will have melted!”

 

Sister Theresa laughed again and it was only when she turned to close the heavy wooden doors that she spotted Hannibal leaning against the wall to avoid being trampled by the ice cream party. “Oh!” she exclaimed in surprise, “I didn’t see you there!”

 

Hannibal was surprised by her age; she couldn't have been more than twenty five. Somehow, he'd always thought that nuns were... old. And certainly not pretty and vivacious like this one. He gave her his most charming smile, “I was keeping out of the way of the hooligans there,” he hooked a thumb back in the general direction of the impatient children, “didn't want them to think I was an ice cream – I didn't think I would last too long...” His easy smile made the humour in his words evident and the young nun smiled back at him, somehow managing to look even younger.

 

“Can I help you with something?” she offered, one eye flicking to the children to make sure they were well inside the gates still.

 

“You seem busy.” Hannibal offered, aware of the commotion waiting for her.

 

“Come on, Sister!” came a plaintive voice as if to back him up.

 

The nun flashed a stern look at the children, “Five minutes Jessie!” she called, “Please remember your manners!” The noise level died down a little as she offered an apologetic smile to Hannibal. “Are you here to see someone?”

 

Hannibal realised that she was fulfilling her role well by checking his security credentials before letting him into the building and smiled once more. “I am actually, I'm here to see Templeton Peck, I believe he's been staying here a while?”

 

He expected the nurse to blush or giggle or at least show some reaction to Face's name – Hannibal would bet his left arm, nun or no nun, she wasn't immune to Face's considerable charm. He was surprised when the reaction he got was actually more of a frown. “Yes, he is here,” all the laughter had left her voice; “I suppose you must be that colonel of his then. Funny – I always thought that Colonels were supposed to be old.”

 

Hannibal was completely taken aback by the swift change in mood and wondered what on earth Face had been saying about him. “I thought the same about nuns...” he countered.

 

Sister Theresa gave him a thin lipped smile as she turned back to the waiting children, “It's Father David you want to see,” she turned her back on him and started down the steps towards the gate, “I don't think Temp is actually in at the moment.”

 

Hannibal stood and watched her leave, perplexed on more levels than one. First her reaction on finding out who he was had surprised him, and then her throwaway comment about Face not being in had added to the confusion. He had phoned in advance and received confirmation from the orphanage that Face would be here and that Hannibal was welcome to visit. He shook his head and turned away from watching the back of the young nun's habit as she bounced along the pavement with the children. “Father David then,” he muttered to himself as he walked into the cool dark of the hallway, “let's see what he has to say.” But deep in the pit of his stomach, Hannibal was beginning to get an uneasy feeling about all this.

 

Ten minutes later Hannibal was sitting in a neat office, panelled in dark wood with a view out over the playing field at the back of the orphanage. A cup of tea sat untouched in his hand as he awaited the arrival of Father David. He heard the footsteps hurrying along the corridor and rose to his feet as the door burst open, “Ah, Colonel Smith, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting like this! So, so sorry! One of those darn days, you know, I don't know if I am coming or going! I'm sure you get days like that yourself, no? Father David Magill, nice to meet you sir, it truly is, I have heard so much about you from that boy of mine, I really have, now have you got a tea? You have, there, excellent, excellent, now don't trouble yourself to stand now sir, have a seat, go on, there, have a seat that's right now.”

 

Hannibal sat and for the second time that day was forced to review his catholic stereotypes. Father David was a huge man with a soft Irish brogue and the thickest black hair that Hannibal had ever seen. From what Face had said about him, he must have been pushing sixty, but you would never have guessed it from his athletic build and his tall lean physique. He was nothing like the thin balding priest that Hannibal had been expecting.

 

Father David sat down in his own chair opposite Hannibal and poured himself a tea, all the while chattering on in his Irish tones about his day and the weather, the traffic all sorts of things and Hannibal found that he had only the briefest opportunity to reply with a word or a nod before he was off on another topic. Hannibal was just wondering if it would be rude of him to interrupt and ask where Face was when the Priest sat back a bit in his chair and let out a long breath. “Well,” he exclaimed, smiling brightly at Hannibal, “as much as this is lovely to sit and get to know you a bit Colonel-”

 

“Hannibal, please Father.”

 

Father David nodded, “Hannibal. There are a few things I would like to discuss with you before the boy gets back from the swimming pool.”

 

Hannibal felt himself relax slightly at the news that Face would, eventually be joining them, but then frowned as he wondered what it was that the priest wanted to discuss with him.

 

“First of all,” Father David leant forward with his hands on his knees and looked Hannibal straight in the eye, “I've never had the opportunity to meet you before and I don't know when I will again, so I will take this chance to thank you for looking after young Templeton there in the army. I'm not stupid you know Hannibal, no matter what he might think, I know they almost chucked him out on his backside more than once in his first couple of years,” he shook his head in a exasperated fashion. “Can't keep his smart mouth shut sometimes that boy, that's his problem!”

 

Hannibal smiled, this man obviously knew Face pretty well.

 

“But anyway,” the Father held Hannibal's gaze, “You could see he had potential, saved his butt from what I can make out and you've kept him on the straight and narrow as well. So thank you, sir, from the bottom of my heart. He's a good boy that one and no doubt, but sometimes he needs...” Father David appraised Hannibal carefully, “Well, I'm sure you are pretty well aware of what he needs, but thank you anyway, you have saved me many a night's worth of prayer for the boy.”

 

He stretched out his hand towards Hannibal and they shook hands, Father David's grip firm and solid in Hannibal's hand. “I don't really think you have anything to thank me for,” Hannibal countered. “It was like you said; I could see his potential and just offered the opportunity for him to fulfil it. Many others would have done the same.”

 

“Not so.” Father David countered, “Templeton has this knack of rubbing people up the wrong way at times; he makes friends and enemies with equal ease. He needed someone just like you to help him out. He needs the army; he needs to feel that he belongs somewhere. I don't know what would have happened to him had they kicked him out...” A frown deepened across his forehead and he suddenly looked a lot nearer his sixty years, “Which brings me round to the next thing...”

 

Hannibal felt that uneasy tug in his stomach once more as he noted how ill at ease father David had become. The priest shuffled back and then forward in his chair and glanced at his watch before meeting Hannibal's gaze once more. “Colonel Smith, _Hannibal_ ,” he corrected himself as he saw Hannibal about to do it for him, “ I have no right to ask this next question and I hope you won't think badly of me for asking it, but... well I have my reasons as I'm sure you will appreciate...” he tailed off into a frown once more.

 

“Father David,” Hannibal leant forward slightly himself, “ask away and I will certainly tell you the answer to any question that is in my power to answer.”

 

Father David sighed and looked over at his desk; Hannibal followed his gaze and saw a photo of Face in his formal army uniform grinning back at him. This seemed to bolster the nerve of the priest as he turned back to Hannibal and with a deep breath spoke. “I need to know, Colonel Smith,” his voice was barely more than a whisper, “I need to know what happened to that boy of mine out there.”

 

Of all the questions that the priest might have asked, Hannibal had not expected that one at all. For a minute he couldn't speak, it took him just that long to banish the memories back to the corner where he kept them before he answered the priest. “I'm not sure what you mean...”

 

With a sigh Father David leant back in his seat; realising that it wasn't going to be that easy to get anything out of Hannibal. “I can see by your eyes that there is something that you aren't telling me, and I need to know.” The two men looked at each other in silence for a while. “He's changed Colonel Smith,” Father David continued looking over at the grinning photo again. “Everyone here can see it. We've known him since he was just a boy and he has always been so upbeat, so cheerful. No matter what life ever threw at him he never let it get him down, just got on with it, laughing as he went and making everyone laugh along with him.” The Father sighed again and turned his gaze back to Hannibal, “But now...” he shook his head, “sure he laughs and jokes as always, but it never reaches his eyes you know?” he tapped the side of his head meaningfully. “He looks...” there was a pause as he thought of the word he needed, then he met Hannibal's eyes directly as it came to him, “...haunted. That's how he looks, like there is always something at the back of his mind waiting to take over, waiting to grab him when he least expects it. Everyone here has noticed it.” He narrowed his eyes in an almost accusatory manner, “Not just me, but he has family here, all who know him well and love him, and everyone has noticed it. Everyone knows something is wrong.”

 

Hannibal thought back to the frosty reception he got from Sister Theresa. Now that made sense...

 

“But he won't tell us what it is,” Father David sighed again. He paused for a long moment as if trying to decide if he should say what was on his mind, then, reaching a decision, leaned in to Hannibal across the table once more. “And at night...” he shook his head, horror obvious in their dark blue depths, “I don't sleep too well Colonel Smith; never have done, not with all those kids to worry about.” He gave a wry smile. “But the boy, he's never had trouble sleeping, not 'til now.”

 

The uneasy feeling in Hannibal's gut returned, curling and roiling like a snake in a pit, he didn't like the way this conversation was headed.

 

“At night...” Father David's voice had dropped again and he was starring out of the window into the afternoon sun as it caught the corners of the stained glass. “He paces around for hours in the night, won't go to bed, he waits and waits until he so tired he can't fight it anymore, but then, when he finally sleeps...” Hannibal began to feel sick. His heart was thumping loudly in his chest and the snake roiled worse than before, “Well, when he finally sleeps, the nightmares start and he screams and calls out and it’s always the same thing that he shouts...”

 

Father David tailed off, his eyes were swimming with unshed tears and his voice was thick and gravelly. He looked like he was having trouble finishing his sentence, but he didn't need to. Hannibal, pulse thumping so loudly in his own ears that he could hardly hear, his stomach sick to the core, finished it for him, “He shouts for me,” he whispered, “he calls for me to help him.” It was the same voice that haunted his own nightmares as well.

 

A thick silence fell over the two men. Hannibal dropped his face into one hand as he struggled to get control of himself. He had been kidding himself that this wouldn't happen, that somehow he would be the one who had the emotional scars to carry and that Face would walk away from it all scot free, that once the physical pain had gone, the emotional pain would fade as well, but he had been doing just that – fooling himself. It seemed that neither of them were going to walk away unscarred.

 

A glass of water was pushed towards Hannibal's free hand as Father David continued. “I see you know what I mean. Perhaps now you will see why I need to know. Something has happened to my boy and it is eating him up from the inside out. He thinks he can cope with it by himself, he thinks that he is getting on and getting better but he isn't. He needs some help, and I can't help him if I don't know what's eating him.”

 

Hannibal took a long drink of water, finding it hard to swallow around the tightness in his throat. He looked up at the priest and shook his head. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice still rough, “Are you really sure you want to know? Because once I tell you it will always be there, that knowledge, those memories, you will never be free of them, just like us.”

 

There was another minute's silence as the priest thought his words through. “I don't know how much Templeton has told you about me Hannibal. Probably not much if I know the boy well enough,” he smiled affectionately to himself, “But I was in the army too.” Hannibal raised an eyebrow in surprise, “Army Chaplain, in Vietnam for six years – wasn't much older than the boy there when I started.” Hannibal nodded in respect as Father David continued his story. “I spent a lot of time in the hospital tents, and saw a lot of things, truly horrific things. But I also saw that boy the first day he was brought home and I can't think of one thing, not one gun or bomb or grenade that would hurt a man like that. He tells me he was hurt in an accident, nothing more than that. He doesn't know that I got a good look at his injuries while he was sedated those first few days back in the US.” He leaned in to Hannibal, his eyes clear and dry once more, “and I know, _I know_ , that they were inflicted on purpose, by another man, or men,” he added darkly. “But I need to know who and I need to know why and I know you can give me those answers.”

 

He leaned back in his seat and fixed Hannibal with a stare and Hannibal knew he was cornered. How could he deny the priest this knowledge, how could he deny Face the chance of some understanding and comfort? He just hadn't told this story before. He'd written it down the day after they got out. An official report to be submitted to his superiors and that had been hard enough. But it was also easy. Easy because he hadn't had to use his voice, he hadn't had to say the actually words that might make it so real and he hadn't had to look into the face of a man who loved his lieutenant while he told it.

 

And what of Face himself? Would he want his mentor to know what happened in those dark days in Iran? No. He wouldn't, of course he wouldn't. But... maybe it would help, perhaps it would be for the best after all. Hannibal was only here for one single week and then he was back on duty. Face himself was looking at at least another month sick leave. How would he cope for that month with no one to talk to? No one who understood what he’d been through? One more look into Father Magill's desperate face made his mind up for him; he took a deep breath, focussed his eyes on a blank spot on the wall and began.

 

“It was a covert operation, quick in and out. We had been sent in to retrieve an informant whose position was no longer viable.” Somehow it was easier to speak like this, using as much of the written report as he could remember, it allowed him to stay as detached as possible.

 

“Where?” Father David interrupted. It was Iran, but he couldn’t say that and wasn’t at all surprised that Face hadn't shared any details either. He offered a flat smile to the Father who merely grunted and leaned back in his seat. “Classified, Colonel, I know the drill.”

 

Hannibal nodded and continued, “I had a team of ten, six went in, four remained outside as backup, but we were set up. The informant had betrayed us, traded us in to save himself...”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It hadn’t done him any good, Hannibal had found out later, they’d executed him anyway but that was a little consolation as they stood in that dried up river bed, scores of guns pointing down at them, hopelessly outnumbered.

 

“Put your guns down, boys,” Hannibal instructed, his voice flat and empty. “Nobody needs to be a hero.” For a second no one moved, the Iranian Captain who’d barked the original order in crude English watched carefully, his hand raised into the beautiful, cloudless sky and Hannibal knew that if it dropped, then bullets would follow. “Boys!” he barked and breathed an internal sigh of relief as his team slowly followed his lead.

 

They were instantly rounded up, searched and handcuffed, lead, in twos, to jeeps where hoods were pulled over their heads and they were forced down into the foot well at the back. Hannibal, taken to a jeep on his own, lost track of his men the second the hood came over his eyes, but the last glimpse he’d had, had been of Face, looking impossibly young but calm and in control, standing resolute as his own hood was prepared.

 

The journey to the confinement facility was long and uncomfortable, bouncing around on the metal floor of the jeep with two pairs of boots holding him in place, his mind on his boys, especially Face who was so, so much more to him now... and he felt sick with dread at what they were about to walk into.

 

 The hood wasn’t removed until Hannibal was in a holding cell, but the cuffs stayed on. The bare concrete cell was less than six foot square, the only way that Hannibal could lie flat in it was to put his feet in one corner, his head in the other and he did that now, determined to look as cooperative and meek as possible while his mind whirled around their predicament. He knew he had four good men on the outside, who would, by now, know they were in trouble and be trying to track where they had gone. He also knew that the five men with him were solid and dependable and knew what was expected of them whilst they were in enemy hands. But they were also young, all of them, although Face was by far the youngest, and they would be scared, especially if they were alone like him.

 

He suddenly had a thought and shuffled into a sitting position, his cuffs against the wall furthest from the door, and quickly but steadily tapped out a single word in Morse code: ‘Report’.

 

He only had the chance to repeat the word three times before there were footsteps in the corridor outside, footsteps and yelling and before he knew it, the little observation hatch in the thick metal door flew open and the barrel of a submachine gun poked in, accompanied with more frenzied yelling. Hannibal didn’t speak Iranian, not even the basic grasp that Face had picked up in the two weeks before they’d been deployed, but he understood perfectly well that his efforts at communication hadn’t been at all appreciated. “Okay, okay...” he muttered under his breath. “Keep your fucking balls on.”

 

_____________

 

Night fell and morning came, twice, and all Hannibal had seen were the two bottles of cloudy water that had been dropped into his cell by an unknown hand. He drank them, knew he needed the hydration and hoped to hell they didn’t make him sick. The smell from the waste bucket, his only other companion in the room was already threatening to do that, and was also attracting its own share of flies. Ignoring the stench and his empty stomach, Hannibal pulled himself to his feet and started shouting instead, asking to see someone in charge, demanding they be treated within the Geneva convention, asking what time the pool and spa opened when that had no response, and finally, just calling out for his boys, which had been the whole point of the exercise anyway, giving up when he received no response from anyone.

 

Another night fell, another morning rose and eventually they came to get him.

 

It was all, from Hannibal’s point of view, very predictable. They had no markings that identified them as US Army, no dog tags. Hannibal knew that if his own team couldn’t get them out of this mess, then no one would be coming in after them – no one would even admit that they were there; such was the way with black ops. But, despite the lack of identifiable markings, it was pretty obvious who they were, and pretty obvious who was in charge. Hannibal just hoped that meant that they’d left his boys alone for as long as he’d been left.  

 

It was the same Captain that came into the small interview room once Hannibal’s hands had been shackled to the legs of the chair he was in and he only smiled blankly at the demands made on him to release their prisoners, to let Hannibal see his men, to provide them with food and better hygiene. Hannibal, of course, had never expected that he would do anything else, but it was a game, and it was expected of him.

 

“You are American soldier,” he said eventually, leaning casually against the concrete walls of the cell.

 

Hannibal shook his head. “Sorry, but no. We’re Russian. On vacation.”

 

A raised eyebrow was the only response to that. “With guns?”

 

“Iran is a dangerous place,” Hannibal shrugged. “Think you’ve just proved that one for us, pal.”

 

“You speak like an American.”

 

A grin split Hannibal’s face. “Too much MTV. We get that even in Moscow you know.”

 

Silence fell while the dark haired Captain coolly watched Hannibal from the other side of the room. “You are American soldier,” he finally repeated. “And you will go on TV and admit that United States are sending soldiers into Iran to slaughter our people. Our women and children.”

 

Hannibal just laughed. “Sorry, bud. Like I said, we’re from Moscow, a Kosak dance group in fact and we’re here on vacation. You get all my men together and we’ll lead you one hell of a dance.”

 

The strike to his face was of no surprise and he managed to roll with it as much as he could. It still hurt like a bitch though, and as he straightened up again, he could feel warm blood running down his chin.

 

“I don’t know why you bother,” the Captain told him in a bored voice. “All Americans are the same, think they can stand to up pain, arrogant infidel _bastards_.” Hannibal held his stare. “But you are wrong. You all have your point, you all crumble in the end. Your men have already given in. They cried like girls, every one of them, and _begged_ to confess their sins to the world. You won’t be any different.”

 

With that, he slipped out of the door and Hannibal was left alone with a very uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

 

__________________

 

Twice more he was dragged from his tiny cell and twice more they went through the same performance, him and the Iranian Captain. Hannibal was asked his name and rank and his business in Iran over and over, but he didn’t share anything. He knew damn well that the Geneva Convention didn’t apply in situations like this, so he was under no obligation to share anything with this prick. He also knew that all he needed was to keep everyone safe and together for long enough for Gem and the boys on the outside to track them down, and they were home free. The only problem he had so far, was that he had absolutely no idea if any of his boys _were_ safe or together.

 

He was only hit the once, it seemed that Captain Abed soon worked out that that wouldn’t be the way forward with him, plus Hannibal suspected they they didn’t want their prize specimens finally going live on International TV looking like they’d been beaten within an inch of their lives to get them there. Another night came, along with a hunk of bread, the first he’d had in days, and then another morning and Hannibal was starting to hope that Gem might have had the chance to find them.

 

The guards came for him again just as the heat of the cell announced that midday was approaching, but this time has wasn’t taken to the little interrogation room at the end of the corridor, no, this time he was marched across a courtyard, the sun blazing on his neck and dragged into another squat once-white brick building. He blinked against the sudden darkness inside as he was manhandled at speed through a large, almost empty room. At the far side of the room was another, familiar looking, heavy steel door, and Hannibal was pushed, face first, into it while his cuffs were unlocked and then, before he had chance to even twitch, the door was unlocked and he was shoved inside.

 

The stench of sweat and bodily waste hit him the second he was inside, but he was blinded by the bright square of light, criss-crossed in bars, that was directly in front of him. Unsteady on his feet, he stumbled slightly and then tripped, finishing off sprawled on the concrete floor, his numb hands struggling to hold his weight.

 

“Hannibal!”

 

“Boss!”

 

“Hannibal!”

 

The cries came from all around him and before he had chance to persuade his still-dazzled eyes to focus, there were hands on him as well, hauling him upright, patting him over for injuries and then one voice, clear and calm in the chaos, rang out over all the others, “Alright boys, back off a minute will you? Give him some air. Face – get the man some water, Piper – get over here and check him out.”

 

“Bunt,” Hannibal breathed, relieved beyond all reckoning that he was alive, he was here with the boys, he was in charge and at least Piper and Face were with him.

 

 _Face..._ He pushed that thought to one side as he was propped in the corner of their cell, his eyes finally adjusting enough to the light to pick out Bunter kneeling on one side and Piper the other, already giving him a quick once over. “Report, Captain,” he ordered his XO.

 

“We’re all here, boss,” Bunter told him, the faint British lilt to his accent ridiculously comforting. “We’ve been fed and watered and treated reasonably well.”

 

“Huh!” Hannibal grinned at Sharkie’s brutal assessment of that.

 

“The Iranians have taken us, one at a time, for questioning and to try to get us to admit to the sins of our nation on TV.”

 

“They’ve not had much fucking luck...” again this was Sharkie.

 

“He’s fine, Bunt.” Piper, finishing his quick assessment shifted back a little and suddenly Face was in his place, plastic beaker of water in his filthy fingers and impossible smile on his lips.

 

“Good to see you, boss,” he offered, letting just the tips of his finger brush Hannibal’s hand as he passed the water over, but it was enough to have Hannibal’s eyes on the open observation hatch in the doorway, terrified that anyone had seen. There was no one there, thank God, and his eyes flicked back to Face, gave him that warning, stark and cold and clear and he knew that the kid understood. He swallowed, and nodded, almost imperceptibly, before rising and following Piper to slump at his side in the far corner.

 

The rest of the day passed by in solitude, the only guards they saw were the ones who threw bread and bottles of water in through the observation hatch before leaving them alone once more, and eventually it was night. Everyone retired to what was obviously their own ‘space’ around the walls, and slid into sleep. Hannibal waited until it was all still and silent before shifting to sit at Bunter’s side. Despite appearances, he knew his XO was awake, had been waiting all this time for Hannibal to come to him.

 

“What’s the plan, boss?” he asked, that slight tinge of worry enough to set Hannibal on edge.

 

“How many guards?” Hannibal deflected.

 

“Fifteen we think, it’s hard to tell as they don’t all come close enough. Munitions store in the far Eastern corner, communications room, North West. Guy in charge is a Captain Abed, went to University in England he keeps saying, but I don’t think he stayed there long,” he paused a little. “From what I can work out they’re waiting for someone, someone of higher rank who will know more what to do with us. It’s very important to them that we make their confessions.”

 

Hannibal nodded. “Well, we won’t be. How’re the boys?”

 

Bunter’s pause was so minuscule that Hannibal barely heard it. “Fine. They’re determined, but worried what’s coming next I think.”

 

“You know where we are?”

 

“No, sir. But we were in the jeeps about two hours which could put us ninety miles from the RV point...”

 

Hannibal nodded that’s what he’d thought too. “Vehicles?”

 

“Four jeeps, parked near the Comms room. Fuel dump right there as well.”

 

“Barracks?”

 

Bunter shrugged. “Sorry, boss, can’t see them, but the shift change always comes across the yard from where you were.”

 

Hannibal lay back against the wall and let all that information swirl around his head a little.

 

“You got a plan?” and there it was again, the note of hope in Bunter’s voice.

 

“Working on it,” Hannibal reassured him. “And don’t worry, we’ve got Gem and the boys outside still.”

 

“If they can find us...”

 

“They will,” Hannibal assured him; he didn’t bring fools on his missions and Bunter nodded, happy in that knowledge. “Get some sleep.”

 

Bunter nodded and prepared to sleep where he sat, but Hannibal roused him almost at once, a heavy hand on his leg. “Bunt,” he said, his voice hardly a breath in the darkness and Bunter looked around at him. “We’re all getting out of here, you know that, right?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Hannibal swallowed. “It’s me they’re going to concentrate on. If I don’t make it-”

 

“Boss...”

 

“No listen – I know you’ll get them out, but... Face...”

 

“I know.”

 

“He’s just a kid.”

 

“I know, boss.”

 

“Sanders...”

 

Bunter put his hand on the back on Hannibal’s. “I know,” he said, firmly. “I’ve got his back. But it’s irrelevant anyway. Right?”

 

Hannibal sat back again and nodded. He knew that, but it had needed saying for his own peace of mind. “We keep him out of this mess, too.”

 

“I know,” Bunter repeated and the two of them slid into silence.

 

_______________

 

The morning came with another jeep arriving in the compound. A short, ornately uniformed soldier climbed out of the back and Abed approached, saluting stiffly. Hannibal and Bunter watched impassively through the barred window as he stalked imperiously towards the building they were in.

 

“Show time,” Hannibal muttered, then turned to his men. “You stay in your places and keep out of the way. Clear?” No one looked thrilled with the order, but they knew Hannibal well enough not to disagree. For one second he allowed he gaze to land on Face and, obeying the unspoken command, Face shuffled right back against the wall, his shoulder pressed up close to Piper’s.

 

They didn’t have to wait long, within minutes, Captain Abed was standing at the open door, flanked by guards with the mystery visitor at his front. No one spoke, no one moved. Hannibal was at the head of the group of prisoners, relaxed but imposing, blocking the view of the visitors to his men. The new arrival wore the uniform of a General and for a second his eyes met Hannibal’s, looking up by at least a foot to meet the cool blue eyes, then he turned his gaze and ran it around the room, jumping from man to man where they sat against the walls. He took them all in, one by one, then slowly, inevitably, he turned back to Face. “ _U râ_ ,” he said, his cold eyes unblinking.       

      

Everyone moved at once.

 

“No!” Hannibal said, stepping to the side, trying to block the soldiers as they entered. “I’m commanding officer, you take me.”

 

The General ignored him, a satisfied smile on his lips as he watched the chaos his choice had provoked. Bunter and Jonno were on their feet as well, standing in front of Piper and Face, yelling at the soldiers who approached them. Piper leaned forward, his arm across Face’s chest while Face stared at the General, his eyes wide but fatalistic. Sharkie was on his feet as well, his back to the wall, shouting in Spanish, a tirade of insults that only he understood.

 

Suddenly a shot rang out and a chunk of masonry fell from the ceiling. Everyone froze, eyes on Captain Abed and his smoking gun, and then they moved again. The threat had been clear enough for Hannibal’s men to step back, Bunter’s face a mask of aguish as he was shoved into the wall and Face hauled up from Piper’s side. He offered no resistance, only staggering slightly at the force with which he was grabbed and within a second he was passing Hannibal on his way to the door. Their eyes met and Face winked, “Don't worry boss,” his voice was quiet but steady, “I've got this one covered.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Back in the cool, dim rectory, Hannibal paused and took a mouthful of cold tea to try and steady his nerves as he glanced up at Father David. He saw the wry smile and knew the priest could well imagine the attitude of his boy as he was dragged away from the safety of his team. Hannibal shook his head bleakly at the memory. “But I knew he was scared. I could see it in his eyes. And I know he could see it in mine as well.”

 

Another heavy silence fell, broken by the sound of pouring water as Father David filled a glass for Hannibal to replace the cold tea. He nodded his thanks and took a sip before, eyes on an empty spot of wall, he continued. “So they took him into the room outside ours. They left the hatch open in the door so we could see and they stripped him down to his underwear.” Hannibal’s' voice fell to a scratchy whisper. “Then they tied his wrists and ankles together and hung him by his arms from a hook in the ceiling so that his feet were about a foot from the ground. He was talking to them all the time, just calmly chatting away in perfect Iranian. God knows what he was saying, God knows how he’d learned so much in such a short time...” A slow shake of the head.

 

 “But then they got started.” Hannibal’s eyes clouded at the memories. “They used thick sticks, truncheons I suppose, all over him... I swear I actually heard a rib break... But he never murmured, never made a sound.” We shouted, yelled at them to stop to take one of us instead but they just ignored us all and continued working him over.” Hannibal paused, his eyes swimming in memories.

 

“And then when they stopped, he just started chatting again, quieter, short of breath, obviously in pain, but trying to act like nothing had happened. I think that really pissed them off,” and now it was Hannibal’s face that bore the wry grin. “So they went and got a bull-whip,” another swallow and his eyes closed, “and you could see he was struggling, really struggling, it must have hurt like hell, the sound of it hitting his skin,” Hannibal shook his head. “But he still never made a sound.” Silence. Both men coming to grips with the facts.

 

“Anyway...” Hannibal wrenched himself out of the memory. “After about an hour they stopped, cut him down and said that he could go back into the room with us if he could get himself there. So he dragged himself across the floor towards us. Every now and again one of them would walk past and kick him, but he never complained. When _we_ did that bastard General just told us that we could help him at any time simply by agreeing to confess to our sins for the cameras...” Hannibal's lip curled into a disgusted sneer. “He’d watched the whole time, leaning up against the wall as his trained dogs did his dirty work for him. Abed had gone, after about twenty minutes, but that bastard had stayed there, watched the whole sick show. “

 

Father David's face was grey around the sides as Hannibal continued. “So, eventually he made it back to us. The guards let him in and we did all we could for him, Piper’s a medic, but we had no supplies, they wouldn’t give us anything for him. Anyway, we tried to keep him warm, we tried to make him comfortable and then I sat with him and he said to me, 'Well, that wasn't as bad as it could have been. Wouldn't want to do it again though.'” Hannibal stuttered to a halt and his empty gaze settled on his glass of water; the only sound the distant preparation of lunch down below.

 

Until Father Magill spoke again, “But that’s not all...”

 

Another minute passed until Hannibal shook his head, “No. I knew he would, I knew they would be back for him and they were. Time and time again. Sometimes the sticks, sometimes their fists, once they brought out a cattle prod. They held his head under water, time and time again, and burned him with their cigarettes. Every time he had to crawl back to us, he took longer and longer and I was so scared that one time he would just give up.” Silence again and Father Magill had to force his hands to relax around the glass they were holding.

 

“But he never did,” Hannibal’s eyes lifted to meet the priest’s and although they were shining with unshed tears, the pride he felt for his boy was obvious, along with his own crippling guilt. “And he still hadn't made one sound in pain. God only knows how he managed that...” Hannibal took a shaky drink from the glass before continuing. “This went on day and night for three days, and all the time he was back with us, all the time he was awake, he was begging us to be strong, not to give up on him. He kept saying it wasn’t so bad, that he could stand more than this, that we had to wait for Gem to find us,” Hannibal shook his head. “I wanted him to be wrong. If it was just me then I’d have said what they wanted in a heartbeat,” his gaze slid to the floor. “But I couldn’t,” and now he looked back at Father David, the plea to understand clear in his eyes. “I made a vow to my country, I couldn’t go back on that, none of us could, we all understood that when we signed up to what we were doing. Face understood that.”

 

Father David met his look, his own eyes wet, but steady and Hannibal sighed before continuing in a flat, empty voice.

 

“Then on the afternoon of the third day, they brought different sticks in with them. Long thin ones and we all knew what was coming. We fought hard to stop them from taking him but of course they did, he just had this fatalistic look in his eyes as they dragged him out and he told me not to worry about him.” There was a long pause. “It was horrific...” and Hannibal’s voice finally petered out, his eyes stared unseeing at the wall, his vision back in Iran.

 

“It went on for about twenty minutes, two or three of them at the same time, the swish and crack of the sticks...” He shook his head, “I wouldn't let the others watch, I was sure they were killing him and there was nothing I could do... _Nothing_ I could do. The floor was slick with blood, and they began to slip in it, but this just goaded them on more, they were in a frenzy and I could see that he was losing control. He began to try and buck and twitch out of the way of the sticks but it was impossible. The guards seemed to be aware that they were so close to breaking him and they did it harder and harder and then he snapped.” Hannibal's hands fisted in his own hair, his knees on his elbows but Father David didn't see, he too was locked into the hellish vision of that afternoon in Iran, “He started screaming...” Hannibal's voice was so quiet it was almost blocked out by the ticking clock. “He was screaming for me, to help him, over and over again and I couldn't -” his words shook at the last and he took four or five deep breaths. “We pounded and pounded against the door and yelled and screamed, I broke, I told them I’d say anything, _anything_ if they would just stop, but they were past listening and hit him harder until... until he just stopped. I thought he was dead.”

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Hannibal stared, his whole body shaking in anger, his heart torn open in grief at the limp, blood-soaked figure hanging helplessly in front of him, so near and yet so far. He could hear the sounds of his men behind him, Piper and Sharkie were crying hot, furious tears, Bunter was still calling to Face, calling to him, willing him to hang on, still thinking they could get him free and Jonno, Jonno was right behind him, his fist tight on Hannibal’s arm hissing in his CO’s ear, something about Gem, something about the team...

 

Ripping his eyes from Face, Hannibal spun to see Jonno standing there, the red hot rage clear in his eyes, a single offensive grenade in his hand. “Gem’s outside,” he hissed, “let’s nail these bastards and go home.”

 

A nod was all he got in reply, before Hannibal snatched the grenade and growled, “Move them,” as he turned back to the door.

 

The blast was deafening and totally shocking for those who were not expecting it. Hannibal’s team, however, were and they streamed out through the collapsed doorway before the dust had even started to settle. Automatic gunfire from the compound told them that Gem’s team had made their own move while abandoned guns were snatched up by Sharkie, Hannibal and Jonno, Piper and Bunter running to Face.

 

Hannibal killed the General himself, three bullets to the head, two more than he needed, but each one shaved a tiny corner off his fury. The door flew open, three guns swung that way only to find they were pointing at Keo, his face twisted into an ironic grin. “Someone call a cab?” he cracked, “I got a cab here for- Fucking hell...” his voice tailed off as his eyes settled on Face’s still figure, Bunter and Piper struggling to haul him down, and his eyes darkened. “Fucking bastards...”

 

Hannibal followed his gaze and his heart contracted in agony. Face was dead, he was sure of it, no one could have lived through that, no one could have survived that much, lost that much blood, struggled through the shock and the terror, but then Piper spoke, the anger and the grief clear in his tone, but the relief surging up past everything. “He’s alive, boss. Fucking hell, I don’t believe it, he’s alive,” and everyone moved at once.

 

“Keo! You brought a chopper?” Bunter’s voice rose over the melee as Hannibal almost decked Piper in his rush to get to Face’s side.

 

“We need to stop the bleeding,” Piper told Hannibal as he hovered over Face’s unconscious form. “I don’t think he can have much left in him.”

 

“We need to get him out,” Hannibal parried and scooped him up into his arms.

 

“Yes, sir!” Keo answered. “Got a Black Hawk comin’ in now, Eastern side.”

 

Bunter looked around and saw Hannibal straightening up with Face’s limp form in his arms. “Jonno, Sharkie, get as many medical supplies as you can. Keo, your crew cover our exit. Piper, you’re with the boss, let’s move.”

 

As one, they made their exit, leaving nothing but death behind them and within minutes they were in the chopper. Piper and Gem worked on Face in a tense silence while Hannibal sat up against the shell, cradling his lieutenant’s head and shoulders in his lap, unmindful of the blood he was covered in. He watched him all the time, his sharp, blue eyes staring down at Face’s closed eyelids, willing him to survive, begging him not to leave.

 

“Boss,” Bunter appeared at his side, angling his body to shield Hannibal from anyone else’s view. “You okay?” and Hannibal closed his eyes as he shook his head.

 

“No, Bunt, I’m not fucking okay. How in hell’s name did I let them do this to him?” his eyes were bleak when they reopened and he was imploring Bunter to try and make some sense out of it all for him. “What kind of CO lets something like _that_ happen to one of their boys?”

 

Bunter shook his head. “With all due respect, sir, that’s a pile of shite and you know it.” Hannibal looked back down at Face. “You know the score, he knows the score. He’d never want you to commit treason for him.”

 

Hannibal shook his head. “It’s his birthday in two weeks. He reckons he’s gonna be twenty five,” it was clear how truthful he thought that was but it didn’t seem to matter as he dropped his head, a single tear rolling out to splash onto Face’s pale and blood-streaked cheek.  “And now he’s not gonna make it, Bunt. Fuck – he’s just a boy still and now...” he trailed off and shook his head.

 

“Hey.” Bunter’s hand shot out and gripped Hannibal’s chin, lifting it up until they were eye to eye and Hannibal could see the uncharacteristic anger there. “You think he wants to hear that sort of crap off you, boss? Do you?” he shook his head. “He’ll be scared enough as it is without listening to stuff like that.” They stared at each other. “He never stopped fighting, so what the hell gives you the right to think that you can?”

 

Hannibal shook his head, “Bunt... I...”

 

“You can’t. That’s all there is to it. He needs you boss, don’t you dare give up on him now.”

 

Keo’s voice calling over the comm. made Bunter turn away, but Hannibal knew he was right and now he had shame to live alongside the anger, guilt and helplessness in his heart. He looked down as was startled to see Face watching him, with eyes that were still brilliant blue even though they were now filled with pain. His face hadn’t been touched, not one single blow and Hannibal knew damn well it was because they were hoping he would join the rest of his unit in admitting his crimes against Iran on international TV.

 

“Hey,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face. “You’re okay, kid, you’re gonna be fine. You just hang in there and let us look after you.”

 

Face held his eyes and Hannibal could see him wanting to believe, wanting so hard to believe, but the fear was still there. Hannibal reached over with his free hand and grabbed hold of Face’s tightly, not caring who could see. “You will be okay,” he repeated, much more forcefully this time and Face gave him a tiny nod, just as his eyes closed once more.

 

“Thanks, boss,” the voice was so quiet that there was no way on earth that Hannibal would have understood what he’d said unless he’d been watching his lips at the same time. “For getting me out,” and then he slumped, his weight heavy in Hannibal’s lap, and Hannibal had a moment of panic before he caught Piper’s eye and relaxed minutely as the other man nodded at him.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Back in the orphanage, the only sound was the ticking of the clock as Hannibal fought to get himself back under control.

 

“Can you believe that?” Father David wasn’t sure if the words, as quietly spoken as they were, were meant for him or not. “He thanked me. After what I got him into, left him to get on with, he thanked me...” He trailed off into silence again, starring down at the table top, deep in unpleasant memories.

 

“Here,” Father David's voice was gruff but kind and Hannibal looked up to see him holding out a tissue, wet streaks running down his face. Hannibal put his hand up to his own cheeks and was surprised to find them wet, taking the tissue to roughly wipe away the offending moisture. “I bet you're not sleeping so good either Colonel, hey?” Father David offered as he turned to the liquor cabinet.

 

The two men sat in silence drinking their whiskey while the sun slowly dipped towards the trees at the far side of the playing fields. Hannibal was acutely aware of his hands shaking as he gripped the cut glass tumbler and even more aware of Father David starring at him across the room. The silence was heavy and loaded as each man wondered what the other was thinking.

 

“I'm sorry I asked you to do that,” it was Father David who eventually broke the silence.

 

Hannibal shrugged, “I just hope it does some good.”

 

Father David let out a long sigh, “You know he doesn't blame you at all for any of this.”

 

Hannibal looked up and fixed the priest with his piercing blue eyes, “You can be absolutely sure of that can you?”

 

“Absolutely. He talks about you all the time, he holds you in the highest regard. And there's not many people you can say that about.”

 

He wasn’t convinced about that at all, how on earth could Face _not_ blame him? Hannibal nodded and allowed himself a dry smile as he changed the subject onto matters he actually wanted to know. “So how is he getting on, physically?”

 

Father David stood to refill his glass. “Very well indeed,” he sighed, “a little too well if you ask me. He is training all the time, keeps trying to go on the treadmill even though the physio has told him to stay off it for another couple of weeks. So he sticks to the weights, and that’s why he’s swimming – instead of running. The physio says that’s okay as long as he doesn't overdo it, he's got to let his body heal itself.” Father David offered the bottle to Hannibal who raised his glass for a refill, “He's supposed to be using a stick to walk with now he's off the crutches, but he won't.”

 

Broken leg. Hannibal had looked at Face's notes so many times he almost knew them off by heart. His left leg was broken in three places, the right suffered a crack in the femur. Six broken ribs, punctured lung, ruptured spleen, heavily bruised kidneys, hairline fracture of the skull, numerous burns, over one hundred lacerations from the birch sticks, badly torn wrists and ankles and heavy bruising over just about every part of his body. Except his face of course. But three months later he was off the crutches, refusing to use a stick and trying to go running again. Typical Face. Once he set his mind to something he was incredibly determined.

 

Realising that Father David was still talking, Hannibal tuned back in to the priest's monologue. “So that's why I make him take some of the older boys with him. The physio said no more than twelve lengths a day but I was sure he was doing more than that.” He chuckled to himself, “It's hard to concentrate on doing thirty lengths when you are trying to stop a bunch of rowdy teenagers from drowning each other!” he looked very pleased with himself, but Hannibal was barely listening.

 

The last time he had seen Face he had literally been clinging onto life waiting for an emergency transfer back to the States. He had refused to leave his side until he had been loaded onto the flying ambulance, but not once had he regained consciousness. They’d spoken on the phone twice since then, that’s all and Hannibal wondered if this reunion was going to be awkward in any way...

 

“I think I hear them back,” Father David interrupted his thoughts, “I didn't tell him you were coming so early...” He didn't need to say why.

 

“Tyler, you couldn't 'whip my butt' if your life depended on it,” Face's voice drifted up the stairs to them, “And don't let the Father hearing you say 'butt', 'cause then you will be in trouble.”

 

“Huh,” came the teenage response, “you say a lot worse than that!”

 

“Yeah – but not in Father David's hearing I don't!” Hannibal chuckled as Father David shook his head in mock exasperation.

 

Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor outside Father David's rooms followed by a sharp knock. “Come in, son,” the priest called and Hannibal braced himself.

 

The door swung open and Face strolled in, the limp in his step clear but not too obvious. His hair was still damp from the pool and curling messily all over his head, he had a faded navy blue t-shirt and old jeans that hung loosely on his waist, he was tanned and smiley and Hannibal felt a wave of relief wash over him at his healthy appearance.

 

He didn't see Hannibal standing at the back of the room, but spoke straight at the priest, “I'm telling you Father, that is the _last_ time I take Tyler and Joe together to the pool. The pair of them together are a _nightmare,_ every time I take my eyes of them for _one_ second...” he trailed off as Father David nodded in Hannibal's direction and spun on his heels, spotting his CO for the first time.

 

“Hannibal!” He was across the room in a split second and embracing a rather startled Hannibal in a fierce hug, squeezing him hard well before Hannibal had chance to feel awkward. He returned the greeting, silently revelling in having Face in his arms again and thrilled to see him looking so well and so relaxed.

 

“Hey, boss!” Face laughed, “You’re early! You could have got me out of childminding duties if I'd known you were here!”

 

“I'm not a child!” Tyler's grumpy voice came from the doorway.

 

“No? Well don't behave like one then,” Face shot back, stepping away from Hannibal. “And why are you even still here? It's feeding time downstairs.”

 

Tyler pulled a face at him and then turned to Father David. “You were right Father,” he said politely, “I counted twenty three today, even though me and Joe did all we could to keep him busy.”

 

“Good boy Tyler, I knew I could count on you,” Father David threw the youth a coin and with a superior glance at Face, he ducked out of the room and could be heard clattering down the stairs.

 

Face turned to the priest with his mouth open, an aghast expression over his face, “Spying on me, Father? You’re _spying_ on me? You sent Tyler to the pool to count how many lengths I was doing??!”

 

He looked so outraged that Hannibal couldn't help but laugh. “He got the better of you there, kid!” he muttered.

 

Shooting him a quick look that was full of betrayal, Face turned back to Father Magill. “Anyway,” he announced, his smile suddenly charming. “It was nowhere near twenty three. You wanted a spy, you should have picked one who could count.”

 

“The boy is hyperactive, Templeton. Not innumerate.” Again Hannibal laughed at the way Face’s smile morphed into a scowl of annoyance. “Dinner is ordered for seven pm, formal dining room. Why don’t you make yourself scarce and show Hannibal around? I have letters to answer and you are cluttering up my office.” Hannibal heard the affection underneath the harsh words and from the way that Face was struggling to keep his scowl in place, so did he.

 

“Alright, Father,” he acquiesced. “I know you need quiet to concentrate,” he looked at Hannibal, “It’s an age thing you know.”

 

Hannibal’s laugh was covered by Father David’s growl of mock-annoyance. “Be gone, you troublesome wretch,” he muttered, sinking into the chair behind his desk once more. “And take that stick with you!”

 

Face rolled his eyes, but snagged the walking stick from behind the door, winking at the Father as he gestured Hannibal towards the door.    

 

_____________________

 

Half an hour later, Hannibal had had a quick tour of the inside of the orphanage, but had steered Face quickly towards the old battered bleachers as soon as the limp became more pronounced and Face’s constant stream of chatter died away into nothing. Now they sat, watching the children trickle out of the dining hall once they had finished their meal and gather in the early evening sun, tossing a ball around or just hanging, sitting on the grass in small groups.

 

Hannibal chanced a quick glance sideways and noted the pinched expression that Face wore, the way that he was surreptitiously massaging his thigh and chanced letting his hand drift to rest up against the faded denim. “Sore?” he asked quietly.

 

Face seemed to jump at his touch and then turned, staring blankly for just a moment before his smile was back. “Nah...” he replied, instantly pulling his hands away. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine to come back to the Unit you know, boss.”

 

A frown creased Hannibal’s brow. “I never said you wouldn’t be,” he told Face gently. He couldn’t miss the frightened look that came his way and sighed, knowing that this whole horrific experience had damaged far more than Face’s health. He sighed, “Face –”

 

Face was back on his feet though, the grunt of pain not quite smothered enough that Hannibal didn’t hear it and looking towards the east side of the grounds. “You want to see the community garden?” he offered. “We grow a lot of our own food there you know.”

 

“Face,” Hannibal repeated taking hold of the hem of his t-shirt. “Sit, down, kid, I need to talk to you.”

 

But Face didn’t sit, his eyes flicked to Hannibal, shadowed in fear and Hannibal felt his heart crack a little more. “There’s chickens as well,” he maintained. “We used to have pigs too but no one wanted to clean them out.”

 

Hannibal didn’t answer, just held Face’s eyes until Face gave up, and sat heavily at his side, his head falling into his hands.  

 

“Face,” he tried again.

 

“It’s okay,” Face interrupted, his voice flat. “You don’t have to say it, Hannibal, I know. I know I let you down.”

 

That had been unexpected. Hannibal looked over at Face’s bent head and frowned. “Let me down?” he asked quietly. “How the hell do you work out you did that then, kid?”

 

There was a moment’s silence and then a half laugh, half sob snuck out from the depths of Face’s hands. “Seriously boss?” Face asked him quietly. “You’re seriously gonna make me say it?”

 

Hannibal fell back into silence himself. He didn’t want to make Face say anything he didn’t want to, not ever, but especially not anything about their time in Iran. But if he didn’t... he really was at a loss as to what was bothering him here. Let him down? How on earth could anything Face had done back there have done _that_. “I don’t know, Face,” he eventually admitted, “I’m really at a loss here... if you don’t tell me, then, I’m sorry... I just don’t know.”

 

A game of football had sprung up on the grass below them, good natured for the most part, there was still a great deal of shouting and cussing and Hannibal wondered how long it would be before one of the nuns would be out there, telling the children to watch their manners. He let the familiar patterns of the game soothe him as he waited for Face, reminded of so many different war zones over the years and the games that the troops played there, anything to take their minds of what they were there for.

 

Eventually he felt Face stiffen at his elbow and knew that the explanation was coming. He waited, quietly, expectantly, letting the kid work it all out in his own time. A sigh came first, followed by a muttered, “I lost control. I forgot my training. I screamed like a fucking baby. I understand if you don’t want me back.”

 

For a second Hannibal was speechless, totally and utterly shocked into silence, but then, just in time, just as he felt Face gathering himself to make a break for it, he realised he needed to do something – fast.

 

“No,” he said, heavily and decisively, a hand moving to rest on the base of Face’s spine. “I don’t want to hear words like that coming from you, kid,” he expanded, “Never.” Face didn’t move and Hannibal shook his head. “What the hell do you think I expected from you? The things you put up with, the pain, the fear... shit, Face, what the hell do you think you should have done differently?”

 

“Held it together,” Face muttered. “No one else fell apart.”

 

“No one else...?” again Hannibal shook his head. “Face – no one else had to suffer what you did. And we did fall apart, all of us, when they were beating you with those birch sticks-” Hannibal stopped abruptly as he felt Face go rigid under his palm, his own throat had almost closed over the words anyway, it seemed that they were both equally determined not to take that discussion any further.

 

In the awkward silence, however, he did think back to that time and with a sinking heart he realised that Face was probably unconscious by the time they had all lost their own composure, by the time that Hannibal was offering to sell out his country, his soul, the entire human race if they’d only stop hurting his boy...

 

He rubbed at his blurred eyes. “Face. Over twenty years I’ve served so far, been to more hell holes than you’ve had sermons, but... never like that. Never has anything been that bad.” Face still didn’t move, didn’t even twitch and Hannibal suddenly thought back to the very first time he’d ever seen Abed and the words that the Iranian Captain had said to him, “ _All Americans are the same, think they can stand to up pain, arrogant infidel_ bastards. _But you are wrong. You all have your point, you all crumble in the end_.” And of course he was right, he was more than right and if Hannibal had realised that in the first place then Face would never have had to suffer the way he had. What had been the point after all? All that agony endured in silence just to have Hannibal giving up, willing to say or do _anything_ , for it to stop? He was the one who should be apologising here, not Face, never Face.

 

“Everyone breaks in the end,” was all he eventually offered. “You lasted a hell of a lot longer than I would have done, kid. There’s no shame in that.”

 

The silence fell between them once more. Hannibal watched as the minutes ticked on until the kids were called in from the field, he glanced down at his watch, his hand still flat on Face’s back. “It’s seven,” his voice was quiet, apologetic maybe and he regretted not being able to say the right thing to make this all better. “We’re expected for dinner.”

 

For a second Face didn’t move, but then he straightened up, his eyes on the distant church, the pinched look still on his face. “Okay,” he answered quietly. “We’d better go in then.”

 

He started to stand but Hannibal gently pressed on his back, keeping him down. “Listen, Face... “ he swallowed, “I’ve got a room at the Marriot, booked in for the whole week. If you wanted... if you could swing it with the Father...” Hannibal felt himself flush at being so ridiculously tongue tied. “Well, it would be good if you could stay. Better than good,” he amended.

 

For one awful moment, Hannibal thought Face was going to turn him down, but then he looked over and even though his eyes were still clouded in pain, he smiled. “Sure,” he said easily, “that would be great.”

 

____________________________

 

Face was sleeping and at least that was something, from what the priest had said, he hadn’t seemed to have had much of that recently.

 

Dinner at the orphanage had ended up being a strained affair. Hannibal had tried and he knew that Face had put on a show, but there was something different, something between them that had not been there before their walk around the grounds. Not only had he and Face been feeling it, but it was pretty obvious that Father David was aware of it as well, the look he gave Hannibal as they said their goodbyes was heavy, the squeeze of his hand almost painful.

 

But then they had got to the hotel and the nice room that Hannibal had taken in the hopes that Face would come back with him and, for a moment, all had been well. They’d fallen on each other the second the door had closed behind them and Hannibal revelled in the feeling of having Face’s body pressed up close to his once more. It hadn’t taken long, the good intentions of taking it all slow and tender had gone the journey the second that Face’s hand slipped inside Hannibal’s shorts and started fisting madly. But it had been wonderful, Hannibal had thought, still making love, not quite just sex and his initial disappointment at Face’s quick slide into slumber had been quickly replaced by the realisation that the kid needed the rest.

 

Hannibal stayed by his side, propped up on a pillow, but resisting the temptation to go and get a drink and a smoke. The silence gave him time to think though, and it wasn’t thoughts that he welcomed. Father David’s words had been a shock, that was for sure, and it had been far from pleasant to have to relive those awful, awful hours in Iran, but what had been worse, far worse in his eyes, was seeing the lasting effects that the mission had had on Face. It would have been a lie to expect that they could both walk away from this emotionally intact, but it was obvious that Face was suffering a great deal. That realisation fired razor shards of ice through Hannibal’s heart and his face flushed in shame as he accepted just how badly he’d failed his boy.

 

He was Face’s CO, but more than that he was his friend, lover and, he knew, the most important person in his life.  Given all those complex layers of their relationship, how the hell could he justify allowing him to be hurt like that? Almost killed? Emotionally shredded? He’d failed him in the most spectacularly horrific fashion.

 

The darkness was not complete, enough light crept under the door from the corridor beyond for him to see the outline of the man next to him, how he slept with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, his knees drawn up and the curve of his back pressed tight to Hannibal. Every time Hannibal had shifted into a more comfortable position, the sleeping Face had followed him, shuffling and creeping until he was laid against him once more sharing his warmth and taking his comfort. Hannibal sighed, how had he let this wonderful boy, who trusted him so completely, a trust that had been slowly given, how had Hannibal let him down like this?

 

He looked away, his eyes had been overlaying the blood and the violence of that day, turning the room into something more resembling a horror movie. But even with his eyes closed it was still there, all that red, all that helplessness... But of course he never had been helpless, had he? And that was the worst of it.

 

If he could turn back the time, go back to that first meeting with Captain Abed he knew now what he would do, without a shadow of doubt what he would do. He’d thought once, and for a very long time, that there was nothing more important to him than his country, the flag he served, his fellow Rangers, the US Army and all it stood for, but now – well, now he knew the truth. If Captain Abed asked him now he would go on TV and make that damn announcement, he’d admit to everything they asked him to, he’d sell his country and his flag as far down the river as he possibly could, he’d do anything to save Face, as nothing, _nothing_ was more important than his boy.

 

Tears sprang to his eyes as he thought of the picture Father David had painted, of Face wandering, lost and forlorn, through the halls of the Orphanage, trying to fight off sleep and the nightmares it would bring, then finally succumbing, drifting into a few hours of rest only to wake screaming for Hannibal once his subconscious was free to revisit the past. He shook his head, and slowly reached out, placing a hand on the tousled head next to his. “Never again,” he vowed, his voice shaking slightly. “Never again Face, I swear to you, you will never have to go there again, I won’t let you. I promise I won’t.”

 

In the silence that followed his words, two steady blue eyes blinked up at him from the pillow and tried, desperately hard, to believe he meant it.

 

_________________________

 

The morning was slightly easier. They made love again, slower this time, slow enough for Hannibal to try and make it mean something to them both. He found it hard to look at Face’s body though, the fading scars that littered his skin, the red lines from the surgeon’s knife as he did his best to repair a damaged spleen, help flooded lungs re-inflate and piece together shattered leg bones. The scars were fading well, eventually it was obvious that they’d hardly be visible at all, but for now, well, every one of them was a painful reminder of Hannibal’s guilt.

 

They muddled through though, a morning spent in light conversation in sun beds on the poolside before Hannibal drove Face across town for his appointment with the physio. They were there in plenty of time and Face went straight into the little gym, pointing Hannibal to the coffee machine and the steps that lead to the viewing gallery.

 

He’d only just seated himself in place, hot cup of something black in his hands when Face and the physio came into the room beneath him. Shelly, she was called, Face had already told him all about her, how she was so small and sweet to look at, but she had a will of iron and she was obviously a masochist, the things she had him doing. Hannibal watched her now, not more than five two high, white-blonde hair in a high pony tail, she certainly looked harmless enough. She greeted Face with obvious affection, and turned to offer Hannibal an embarrassed wave when Face bent to whisper in her ear and point to the gallery, but once those introductions were over, it was clear how she had won Face’s grudging respect.

 

For Hannibal, the session was almost as painful as the meeting with Father David had been. Face was in obvious pain, he was sweating, shaking, his teeth gritted in agony more often than not, but still Shelly didn’t give up on him, always coaxing more from him, just one more, just five more, just hold it a little longer, a little longer... until Hannibal could only just hold back from shouting down at her to stop. She obviously knew Face though and could tell when he needed a break, turning her back as she sorted her equipment or adjusted the blinds giving him a moment to haul himself back together, wipe the sweat and the tears from his face and come back with a strained smile, ready for more.

 

Forty minutes had never seemed so long. Eventually, Face disappeared back towards the locker room with a tired wave in Hannibal’s direction and as he waited, slumped in his seat, untouched coffee at his feet, the door to the balcony opened and Shelly wandered in. Hannibal rose as she saluted and for a moment he was shocked until he realised that, of course, it was the Army that was arranging all this for Face.

 

“Colonel Smith, sir,” she greeted him and he returned the salute.

 

“At ease,” he told her with a forced smile, “I’m on leave.”

 

She instantly relaxed and he wondered, despite who paid her wages, just how much she followed the life of a soldier here. “I wondered if you wanted an update on how Face is getting on here?”

 

Unaccountably, Hannibal’s heart started thumping hard in his chest and he was instantly worried about anything Shelly could tell him, that somehow Face’s physical recovery was not going as well as he had hoped. He ruthlessly bit back his anxiety and offered up what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Of course,” he answered smoothly. “He seems to be doing well?”

 

“He is,” Shelly agreed, but then her mouth set into a firm line. “He’s overdoing all the extra training though and I’m sick of telling him that. If he’s not careful he’ll end up breaking the bone again and then he’ll be back at square one.”

 

Hannibal nodded, impressed with her honesty. “I suspected as much. He can be a stubborn S.O.B. but I will talk to him about it. Order him if I need to.”

 

Shelly flashed her cheerleader’s grin at him. “Thank you sir, he needs it.” She went to walk away at that but then stopped and her perfect smile faltered just a little.

 

“Something else?” Hannibal prompted her, the anxiety racing through him once more.

 

“No, sir...” she frowned, “Yes. I...” she seemed to make a decision. “Did you know that he is refusing counselling?” And there it was, suddenly out there.

 

“No. I didn’t. Thank you.” Hannibal’s frown was as deep as Shelly’s. For a second she hovered in front of him, wanting to say more, but then gave it up, with a shrug and a smile she left Hannibal to his thoughts.

 

__________________________

 

By the time Face came out through the main doors, his hair wet from the shower and leaning heavily on his stick, Hannibal had moved the car to the front for him while his thoughts circled around and around everything he’d seen and heard in the last twenty four hours. He watched grimly as Face made his way to where he waited, noticed the pinched look of pain in his face and he whiteness of his knuckles as they gripped his stick and leant over to pop the door for him.

 

“I can manage myself you know,” Face muttered as he got in, but Hannibal ignored him and they drove off in silence.

 

Conversation was muted on the journey back. The original plan had been to stay out and have dinner somewhere on the way to the hotel, but after driving three blocks in silence Face asked if they could skip dinner, he was tired and not really hungry. Hannibal didn’t answer for a minute, but then remembered the way the kid had struggled just to get back to the car and so nodded, offered a vague, “Sure,” and that was the end of that.  

 

The silence lasted all the way back to the hotel, Hannibal had been on edge, feeling a return of this _thing_ between them and bracing himself for the request to take Face back to the orphanage instead. It never came though, and his relief was tempered by the fact that they reached the hotel room in a strained silence and Face immediately pushed his shoes off and lay on the bed, his back to Hannibal and his posture stiff. Hannibal watched him for a moment, then sighed and, taking a miniature from the mini-bar and a cigar from his bag, he headed for the balcony.

 

Despite overlooking the pool, the balcony was quiet and gave Hannibal the perfect opportunity to go over everything once more. Every time he looked at it, every new nugget of information that came his way, they all had the same affect on his already stifling guilt. He’d let Face down so much, both as his lover and his CO and in his eyes that was nothing short of unpardonable. In a nutshell, he’d put his job over the welfare of the person he loved, and now Face would have to carry the scars to prove it.

 

Every time he closed his eyes he could see him in the gym that afternoon, teeth gritted in painful determination, sweat and tears mingling on his too-young face, fighting with everything he had to get fit again, and for what? So that he could go back out into the field with the same CO who’d abused his trust so desperately?

 

Hannibal hung his head and realised that he couldn’t do this anymore. What on earth was he thinking, that he could have a member of his own team as his lover? It was against regs on every conceivable level, but more than that it was just wrong – especially if it meant that he couldn’t even protect Face when the kid needed him to. Not that any of it mattered much, he thought morosely to himself, it was blatantly obvious that Face was having second thoughts about their relationship now, and honestly, who could blame him? The trust had gone, they seemed to have nothing to talk about any more, the huge cold, _something_ that kept rearing up in between them would continue to grow and fester until it ate away anything that they had and left them with nothing but contempt for each other and what they once were.

 

He couldn’t do that he realised, his eyes stung with tears at the thought of losing Face at all, never mind of he and Face picking at each other until there was nothing but bare bones left behind. No – this situation was untenable now, he needed to step up, be the CO he was supposed to be, and sort something else out that may just keep them together long enough to both heal.

 

The question was though, what on earth could he do? From what Face had been saying, he certainly expected to be signed back on to active duty sometime in the next four to six weeks, and of course he would be assuming he was coming back to Hannibal’s unit. Well, that wasn’t happening now, it was too dangerous, too complicated, far too risky with the type of manoeuvres they went on for the kid to be out there anymore. Hannibal had once prided himself on his ability to keep his boys safe, but this last op had blown that right out of the water and so he was left with nothing but a fear for Face’s life. Would he ever be able to stand back and watch as the young kid he’d promised to protect was tortured again? Killed? Captured? Shot? He sighed, no, he knew the answer to that.

 

But there were other options, plenty of things he could try and set up that weren’t anywhere near as dangerous as this life he led. There would never be a total lack of risk, but Hannibal could certainly aim to minimise it, could have a word with a few people, pull in a few favours, maybe play on Face’s leg and try and get him kept Stateside.  A desk job maybe? A nice nine to five working as an aide or a PA, assigned to some fat colonel who would keep him safe when Hannibal hadn’t? They would still see each other, nowhere near as much as they did now, but they could still have a relationship. Plenty of servicemen did after all. Maybe it would even work better if they were apart more often?

 

He knew he was kidding himself though, those past few months that they’d been together, the months before Iran, had been the very best in his whole life. He’d loved living and working with Face while realising he was falling more and more in love with him every passing day... He closed his eyes, those scant few days imprisoned in a foreign country had ruined everything for them, everything.

 

He pushed his mind back to his plan and started wondering just who he could persuade to take Face on, who would look after him in a way that Hannibal would approve of, and suddenly he stopped short as a sudden realisation brought a chill to his heart. Despite the warmth of the evening sun, he shivered as he thought back to the circumstances when he and Face had just met, and Face had come to him from Colonel Sol Sanders... The bastard had used his rank and Face’s questionable disciplinary record to wring sexual favours from the boy, and things had not stopped there. In Hannibal’s covert investigations into the man and the way he ran his unit, he’d discovered tapes, a box of video tapes of himself with various young soldiers, none of them willing participants in his games – and games was far too nice a word for it.

 

His stomach had turned as he’d watched Sanders satisfy his more deviant sexual desires on his coerced and often terrified subordinates. Face had appeared in the videos far too often for Hannibal’s liking and the more he watched the more he realised that Sanders was not only getting off on the sexual nature of his assaults, he was also, probably more so, getting off on the power and humiliation and the force he was using.

 

Hannibal made sure that some of the tapes made it into the right hands, but there weren’t many he could hand on; there was no way in hell that he was going to let Face get messed up in any disciplinary proceedings that started against Sanders, the boy had suffered enough already. Instead he took every tape that showed even the briefest flash of Sanders with his boy and destroyed them, wishing that the images in his head were as easy to erase.

 

Unfortunately, those he handed on seemed to disappear into the system with frightening speed. No charges were ever brought against Sanders and he simply moved on, different base, different country even, but Hannibal knew he was still out there, seething at the way that Face had evaded him and Hannibal had threatened him, and Hannibal knew that there was no way he could let Face go off to another unit on his own, he knew that Sanders wouldn’t hesitate to strike back at him as soon as Hannibal wasn’t there to watch him.

 

He sighed, so perhaps a transfer wasn’t the solution then, his stomach churned unpleasantly as another option slowly presented itself to him, an idea he didn’t think Face would be keen on, an idea he himself hated... but it looked like it was the only way forward.

 

_________________________

 

Face had ‘slept’ on while the room service sandwiches arrived and Hannibal ate his alone on the balcony. He then retired to the en-suite for a shower, and when he came out again, Face was sitting up in bed, empty plate at his side, his blank eyes fixed on a muted MTV.   

 

“Hey,” he felt that huge, awkward coldness around them once more, only exaggerated by the way that Face was obviously trying not to look at him.

 

“Hey,” he answered quietly, seemingly transfixed by Madonna gyrating on the screen.

 

Hannibal sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair. “Kid,” he shook his head, “we really need to talk here.”

 

For a second it was like Face hadn’t heard him, his eyes stayed fixed on the TV even though Hannibal knew he wasn’t actually watching it, but then he turned, bright empty smile on his face and looked right into Hannibal’s eyes. “Sure boss,” he said easily. “What can I do for you?”

 

Hannibal stuttered to a halt, he hadn’t really thought about what he was going to say, not really. He knew what he _thought_ , but he hadn’t really covered the ‘how to put it in words’ bit. They stared at each other in the silence of the room and then Face’s smile deflated as his eyes drifted wordlessly back to the screen and Hannibal started forward again, perching awkwardly on the end of the bed; there had been enough of ‘something’ in Face’s eyes, worry, fear, acceptance? to get his heart beating hard in his chest.

 

“Face...” he started and waited, watched as the kid blinked a few times and then turned to him, that gratingly false smile back on his lip.

 

“Yeah?”

 

This was not going well, and it certainly was not going to be easy, Hannibal decided it was probably best just to dive right in there. “Look, kid... You know once you’re fit, you were going to come back to the unit?” Face didn’t answer, but he did become preternaturally still and Hannibal pushed on, “Well, I was thinking it would probably be best if – you didn’t.”

 

There was a pause, just long enough that Hannibal started to wonder if Face had actually heard him, before he got his answer. “Sure thing, Hannibal. Anything you want.”

 

Face’s eyes were fixed on the TV screen now and Hannibal watched him, confused but relieved at how well he’d taken it and decided to get it all out in the open in one go. “In fact,” he cleared his throat. “In fact, I think it would be best if you resigned your commission altogether,” a quick look was all he got for that, before Face was back studying the TV, his body so very, very still, his expression calmly blank.

 

“Okay,” was all he said though, in a voice quiet enough that Hannibal wouldn’t have heard unless he’d been watching for it.

 

The silence was back, Face picked up the remote and started surfing through the channels, only stopping when he came to an episode of The Simpsons, when he cranked the volume up, shifting slightly away from Hannibal to get a better view of the screen.

 

Hannibal watched him dumbfounded. His heart was still thumping in his chest, but now with something unpleasantly like hurt. He’d thought Face would react more than this, would _care_ more than this. He knew the kid had a reputation for being shallow, for sleeping around and using others and it was one that they were both happy to cultivate as it certainly kept the attention off them and the unusual closeness of their relationship. But now, faced with the cold certainty of Face’s indifference to him, Hannibal began to wonder just how much of an act that had been, and how much was Face’s true nature.

 

He thought back to all the nights they’d spent together, their closeness, the way they seemed to just gel. He might not have said the ‘L’ word to Face, but Hannibal had started to feel it, the last few months before Iran he’d even wondered if he should say it back to Face, if it were advisable within the careful boundaries of their, still fairly new, relationship. But now? He was very glad that he hadn’t. He gave it one last go. “I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he offered. “This last op, I couldn’t stand it. If you resigned then you’d be safe,” Face’s expression didn’t flicker and Hannibal couldn’t stop the, “We could still see each other,” that slipped, rather sadly, from his lips.

 

Face’s eyes shot his way for just a moment before settling back to the screen. “Yeah?” he asked and Hannibal frowned at what he thought was a touch of bitterness there. “When you’re Stateside, right? When you can squeeze me in?”

 

The frown deepened. “Well, yes, of course. It’s not like you could come with us.”

 

“Of course,” Face turned back to him then, his eyes and his smile bright in the dimness of the room. “Of course I couldn’t.” Hannibal opened his mouth to speak, but Face beat him to it. “If you’ll excuse me, boss, sorry, _Hannibal_ , I need a bath, I ache like a bitch” And with that he was up and limping hurriedly towards the en-suite. By the time Hannibal had even thought to follow him, the door was locked, the taps were running on full and Face wasn’t answering him.

 

He came back though, late in the evening, when it was Hannibal laid on the bed watching the news channels, he emerged from the en-suite, looking flushed from the steam and smelling of the free bath foam that he’d obviously used in huge amounts. “Hi,” he offered sheepishly and crawled straight onto the bed, resting his head on Hannibal’s chest and snaking his arms around him.

 

Relief surged through Hannibal’s veins as he realised that Face’s strange mood, whatever it had been, had passed. He bent and pressed a kiss into still-damp hair and smiled at the way he felt Face’s arms tighten around him. “Hi,” he replied, “you smell good.”

 

Face chuckled against him, “I taste even better,” he murmured and Hannibal felt his cock twitch to life at the timbre of those words. He ignored it for now though, as much as it was tempting just to lose himself in the soft heat of his boy, he wanted to make sure that they were okay with everything.

 

“You, know, Face...” he started, but before he’d gone further than that, Face was up on the bed on his knees, finger on Hannibal’s lips, towel slipping from his waist and despite himself, Hannibal’s eyes were pulled down to stare at the erection that was just awakening against his boy’s thigh.

 

“Not now,” Face whispered, wincing as he lifted his leg over Hannibal’s settling with a sigh over his bare chest, hardening cock trailing gently over the sparse hairs between Hannibal’s nipples. “Now, I can think of better things to do.”

 

Hannibal felt himself harden almost immediately and wondered how in hell’s name Face was always able to do this to him; the kid was, hands down, the sexiest thing he had ever had the good fortune to have in his bed. He did want to get everything straightened out though, still wasn’t sure what had sparked the odd mood from before. “Baby,” he started, “I-”

 

“Shhhh,” Face interrupted, pressing his lips to Hannibal’s. “Not now. Now I want to ride you. What do you say to that, hey?” 

 

All Hannibal could say was a throaty moan as Face lifted up enough to be able to shimmy Hannibal’s shorts down over his hips before moving his half-hard cock to nestle into the crease of his ass. He then set about teasing it to full hardness by rubbing up and down against it, while his hands threaded through Hannibal’s soft, short hair and held him still to kiss.

 

Hannibal relaxed back into the pillows, loving the weight of his boy on his hips, loving the friction on his cock, loving the way he was being held still, gently but forcefully and most of all, loving the kissing. Hannibal always liked to kiss, but kissing with Face was just incredible. The boy was seriously talented, and could take Hannibal from nothing to a panting, dripping mess in less than five minutes using nothing more than his tongue and lips. This was one of those times and Hannibal soon felt the familiar slick from his pre-cum as his rutting against Face’s ass became a little more desperate.

 

Face, as ever, was more than aware of Hannibal’s needs, and without pausing in his kiss, he arched up a little and moved Hannibal’s eager cock until it was nestling up against his hole. Hannibal wanted to stop him, to warn that he would need stretching and lubing but Face was too fast for him, just as he pulled away from the kiss, his boy sank down, fast and firm, sheathing Hannibal inside him, pulling an involuntary thrust from the man below and settling down with contented sigh as Hannibal tried to still the desperate jerks of his own hips.

 

It felt as wonderful as it always did to be inside Face like this. Hot and tight, but wet and smooth and Hannibal realised that the kid had slicked himself up in the bathroom before coming back in. Somehow that just made it all the more wonderful, that he had obviously wanted this as much as Hannibal had.

 

He could never last too long in this position though. If he could get Face on his back, then he could make love to him for hours, drawing it out, making the boy squirm and writhe in desire before finally making him come hard and deep. But in this position he had little control and the way that Face was twisting on him, tightening up his inner muscles and bouncing up and down, he knew that the end wasn’t far off. With that in mind, he slipped a hand in between their stomachs and found the hot erection he had felt nestled snugly against him. He wrapped his hand around it, feeling Face pick up speed in response to his tight grip. He didn’t have to do much, Face was doing all the work and Hannibal could feel the way that the kiss had turned into a series of desperate gasps into his mouth and then he was there, swirling and falling, one hand on Face’s hip, holding him down as he thrust upwards, the other frantically working the cock in his palm, savouring the way it pulsed in his fingers, covering them both in come just as he managed one final spurt deep inside his boy’s hole.

 

For a second, Face was still against him, but then with a moan and a rush of semen, he shifted, flopping down on the mattress at Hannibal’s side, turning his back on the boss, but dragging a heavy arm and the duvet over him before slipping into stillness and silence. Hannibal paused and considered trying for that conversation now, but then relented. Face was obviously tired, while he himself was knackered, it had been a hard deployment and a busy few days back home. Face was fine now, he obviously understood what Hannibal was trying to do for him and their love making had just proved that everything was settled between them. With his own sigh of content, Hannibal turned on his side and spooned his softening cock up into the groove of Face’s ass. With a stretch he killed the light and the TV and then snuggled into the warm back in front of him, closing his eyes and letting sleep claim him.

 

\----------------------

 

He woke just before six as he always did. The room was still and silent, and somehow Hannibal just knew there was something wrong; his eyes were open and he was sitting upright in bed even as his hand shot out to touch nothing but cold, empty sheets beside him.

 

“Face?” the word was out of his mouth as he turned to look at the en-suite, somehow not at all surprised to find it standing dark and empty; with his heart pounding in his chest, he climbed out of bed. A quick check of the room convinced him of what he had already dreaded – Face, and all of his belongings, had gone.

 

For a few minutes he just sat and thought, wondered what the hell the boy had been thinking when they had managed to straighten everything out between them. But then he thought back to the night, the silence, Face’s unusually quick and willing agreement to Hannibal’s idea, the love-making without words, the going-to-sleep without eye contact and realised, with a flush of shame, that he’d been played, Face had most certainly _not_ been okay with the way things had worked out.

 

He ran a hand through his hair, trying not to think of how Face’s fingers had felt doing just that same thing the night before and wondered where the kid would go. With a sinking heart he realised that there was just one option and reached out to grab his clothing already dreading his necessary meeting with Father Magill.

 

__________________

 

In the end it was even worse than he’d feared. The same young nun from the other day let him in again and if her reception had been frosty before then it was downright Arctic now. They walked in silence along the quiet corridors, sleepy heads poking out to stare at them, until they came to the huge panelled door of Father Magill’s study. Hannibal was ushered into his chair, a coffee appeared at his side, Sister Theresa gave him one last fierce stare and then he was left alone with a grave looking Father David.

 

“Father”, he greeted him quietly.

 

“I know why you’re here,” the tone in Father David’s voice was far from encouraging.

 

“Is he here?”

 

“No.”

 

Hannibal sighed, “But he’s been here?”

 

“Yes. He arrived in the early hours. And now he’s left again.”

 

Rubbing at his brow with two long fingers, Hannibal wondered just what the hell Face had said to this man, his mentor, his Father in more ways than one. But Father David wasn’t that keen on giving him too much time to ponder.

 

“You will excuse me for being frank with you here now Colonel,” he said, his voice sharp in the early morning quiet. “But what in dear God’s name were you thinking in throwing him out of the Army like that?” Hannibal looked up, and the shock of those words was clear in his expression. “Did I not tell you what it meant to him to _belong_? I thought you understood him! I thought you, of all people in this world, understood how much he needed that!”

 

Hannibal stared for a moment, caught about as speechless as he’d ever been. “I certainly did not throw him out,” he eventually managed to retort.

 

“Pah!” Father David threw up his hands and leaned back in his seat. “But you may as well have! You know how the boy idolises you! You tell him you don’t want him and he’s gone, I’m just glad he had to stop here and get the rest of his stuff first!”

 

“I never said-” Hannibal stopped short as the Father’s words sank into his mind. “Wait – what do you mean, ‘he’s gone’?”

 

“Gone!” Father David shouted and leaned forward in his seat again, “What the feck did you think I meant!”

 

The two men stared at each other, Hannibal wide eyed and Father David leaning over the desk with a mixture of anger and grief etched thought his expression. The moment stretched until the Father sat back again, his face buried in his huge palms and took a couple of deep breaths; Hannibal continued to stare at him, his mind struggling to process what he’d been told.

 

“I’m sorry,” Father David eventually offered from behind his hands. “I should not have yelled at you like that sonny, so I shouldn’t,” he looked up and there were tears standing in his eyes, “But you have to know what that boy means to me there.”

 

Hannibal held his eyes, “And me,” he admitted quietly. “I swear to you, sir, I never, _ever_ wanted him to go anywhere.”

 

Father David frowned, “You didn’t tell him to leave the Army?”

 

Hannibal looked tragic, “I did,” he admitted. “But... I just...” he shook his head; how could he possibly start trying to explain all of this to a _Priest_?

 

“If it makes things easier between us Colonel,” Father David eventually offered. “I know about you and Templeton. I know that you frequent each other for carnal pleasures.”

 

The frown was back, “It’s hardly that!” Hannibal objected. “You make it sound like I’m using him! Like he’s nothing more than a cheap whore!”

 

Father David shrugged, “And he’s not? Isn’t that what you do with a whore when you’ve had enough? Tell them you’re finished with them? Ask them to leave?” All the blood drained from Hannibal’s face as he stared at Father David in appalled shock. “So, what happened whilst he was away then Colonel? Did someone else fill his space in your bed? Is he surplus to Army requirements now?”

 

Eyes narrowed, Hannibal drew himself up in his chair and glared at the priest. “Father Magill,” he said, quietly and steadily. “In view of your calling I will let those comments pass, but believe me, I would punch out any other man who insulted me like that, insulted us both!”

 

Father David merely raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying my summary of the situation is wrong?”

 

“Yes!” Hannibal’s hiss was quiet but deadly. “I haven’t replaced Face either in my unit or my bed! In my eyes he is totally irreplaceable! That is _not_ what any of this is about!”

 

“It’s not?” there was that eyebrow again. “What is it about then, Colonel? You tell me, now.”

 

Hannibal ran a shaking hand through his hair and wondered if he could. “Seeing him hurt like that, hearing him calling for me and being totally unable to help him...” he shook his head and looked Father Magill in the eye. “I thought _you_ understood. I sat here and replayed the whole horrific ordeal for you and thought you could _see_ just what he meant to me.”

 

Father David considered him in silence for a moment. “But you still asked him to leave his job, his calling, his vocation, his family. You asked him to leave _you_. Now, why else would you do that?”

 

“To save him!” Hannibal was on the edge of his seat, desperate for the priest to understand him. “To make sure he never, _ever_ had to go through anything like that again!”

 

“To save him you’d send him away from you?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“He means that little to you?”

 

“No, god-damn it!” Hannibal’s anger was running hot through his veins, the Father’s accusations burning him from the inside out as he wondered if that’s what Face had thought too. “Because he means that _much_ to me! And he does, everything, the whole world. The thought of that happening again...” He paused, his heart hammering away in his chest. “I love him,” he finally admitted, “I do, I love him so much... I couldn’t stand it... I just couldn’t.” His head dropped into his hand as tears sprang in his eyes and he sucked in breath after breath, trying to get himself back under control.

 

There was a sound from across the room, a scraping of chair legs, footsteps and then a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I know you do, John,” came that quiet brogue in his ear. “I just wish he knew it too.” 

 

_________________________

 

The day had been long and fruitless. Hannibal had choked down a cooked breakfast while Father David told him how he had stumbled across Face in the middle of the night, packing up the rest of his belongings and preparing to do a midnight flit. He’d told the priest the bare bones of what Hannibal had said to him and announced that he wasn’t prepared to stay where he wasn’t wanted. They’d argued, Father David had told him he must have been mistaken, that Hannibal would never treat him so, but Face had remained unconvinced. In the end he’d stormed out, leaving everything he owned behind him and disappearing over the orchard wall like he had done when he was about twelve.

 

Hannibal had headed out straight after that, with a list of all the places the young Templeton Peck had liked to hang out when he was living at the Orphanage and a tank full of gas. Ten hours later, his list was all crossed out, his fuel all gone, and there was still no sign of Face at all.

 

He was parked on the parking lot near the Santa Monica Aquarium, staring at the lights on the pier and listening to the distant shrieks from the rides. He leaned back on the wing of the car and looked up at the sky, seeing nothing but orange glare as he wondered where Face was, wondered who he would go to, what he would do. The Father said he had nothing with him, no clothes, no belongings, very little money. He also hadn’t taken his meds or his stick and goodness knows how far he’d had to walk... Hannibal felt his eyes tear up in frustration and regret. _What_ had he been thinking of letting Face con him like that? Of course the kid would need some convincing that he wasn’t just being thrown away. Hannibal _knew_ how insecure and paranoid he could be... he’d been a damn fool.

 

The metal was cool against his back as he leaned up and thought of skies in war zones all around the world, how, when they weren’t lit it by rockets and mortars, they were studded with millions and millions of tiny stars. Face, a city boy from his toes to his head, had loved to lie back and watch them, Hannibal remembered the look of shocked awe on his face the very first time he’d seen a shooting star. It had been beautiful. While Face liked to watch the stars, Hannibal liked to watch him, marvelling at the child-like innocence he still had once he’d lowered his walls enough to let it show through.

 

Suddenly, Hannibal snapped back to attention. A road sign he’d passed earlier in the day coming back to him with a jolt, he turned and looked up at the hills behind, wondering... then made a snap decision and slid back behind the wheel of the car.

 

________________________

 

Hannibal’s heart fell as soon as he was within sight of the Griffith Observatory. He’d been so certain that Face would be there, that he would have gone to the only place in LA where you could see the stars of the heavenly kind and then Hannibal would be able to talk to him, take him home. There was still the slightest of chances that he might still be there, but the crowds made him fear otherwise, if Face was looking for peace and solitude in order to think through his muddled thoughts, then he wouldn’t want to do that in the company of around a thousand snap happy tourists.

 

He couldn’t give up hope completely though, not until he had searched the place from top to bottom so he parked his car a good way down the road and started the hike up the dark road to the observatory at the top of the hill.

 

It took him about forty minutes to convince himself that he’d been right, that Face wasn’t here and he stood on one of the viewing platforms, hands on his hips as he wondered what he should do now. The prospect of returning to the orphanage and bearing the brunt of Father David’s cool anger wasn’t appealing, but he realised that he had little in the way of a choice, Face had no mobile phone, and Hannibal just didn’t know enough about him to even guess where to look next, this had been his only idea.

 

Turning his back on the cityscape below him he leant against the wall and rubbed at his brow wishing he could turn the clock back twenty four hours. He looked up at the sky himself, still stained orange from the glow of the city, a poor imitation of the skies they saw while in-country and wondered what on earth he’d been thinking of, wanting to take that away from Face, not just the skies, but the whole thing, the purpose, the comradeship, the friends – the belonging. He might not know the kid that well yet, might not have had the long talks about what his life was like before he came to Hannibal, but he knew enough to understand that it hadn’t been good, that, just like the shooting star, everything that Face had now was wonderful and new; how could Hannibal have even considered stealing that from him?

 

He looked away from the orange wash, suddenly wanting to be out in the desert somewhere listening to one of Sharkie’s long and outrageously made up stories, Face pressed up against his thigh, laughing along with the others. He’d take the danger, the threat of death and injury, the constant unknowns, he’d take them all as long as he could have Face at his side. It was just a shame that his epiphany had come at such a cost.  As turned back to the parking lot, his eyes picked out a shape that was, just for a second, illuminated by the sweeping beams of departing headlights, and he frowned. It had been a person, he was sure of that, up in the hills behind the observatory – he hadn’t even realised that there was access up there. For a moment he stood and pondered, and then, with a fatalistic shrug, turned and followed the path in the direction he’d been looking.

 

It didn’t take him long to see it, a way-marked trail that headed off up into the hills, the obligatory warning about rattlers in place and a reminder about forest fires. Pulling his pen light from his pocket, he turned and made his way up along the scrubby path.

 

Only two minutes of walking brought him to the shape he’d seen before, and the two interrupted lovers quickly scrambled to their feet, yanking up trousers and tugging down skirts even as Hannibal carefully kept his eyes averted and carried on walking – it wasn’t Face, that’s all that mattered to him, whatever else they were up to he wasn’t bothered. He walked a little further, wanting to give the couple chance to get themselves back together and out of his way before he turned back, and that’s when he heard it, the little scraping sound followed by a shower of pebbles and a muttered curse. He spun his light upwards, picking out a shape not ten feet above him in the scrub, parked firmly on its butt, arm thrown up to shield their eyes from Hannibal’s light.

 

“Hey,” he shouted up, “you okay there?”

 

There was a pause, just enough to make Hannibal take one step off the path before a voice answered, “Yeah, fine,” and Hannibal’s heart leapt into over-drive.

 

“Face!” he was scrambling up through sand and gravel in an instant, “What you doing up there, kid?”

 

“Trying to get some fucking peace,” Face grumbled back, even as Hannibal was hauling him upright. “More to the point, what are _you_ doing here?”

 

Hannibal took his time replying, making sure that Face was steady on his own feet before, letting go of his rigid arms, dusting down his combats and trying to pick out his eyes in the darkness. “Looking for you,” he answered quietly. “I’ve been worried about you, Face.”

 

The ironic, ‘humph’ was not what he’d hoped to get as his answer, and the hand he reached out to hold Face’s elbow was brusquely shaken off. “Well, maybe I should have made myself a little clearer,” Face muttered and Hannibal winced at the hurt he could hear in those words. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. You want me gone? I can disappear with the best of them. You won’t ever have to set eyes on me again.”

 

Hannibal sighed, of course it was going to go like this, what he needed to do now was take hold of it and turn it around before it ran too far away from him. “Face,” he said slowly and deliberately, “maybe _I_ should have made _myself_ a little clearer.” He reached out and stubbornly took hold of Face’s elbow again. “I don’t want you to leave me. I don’t want you to leave the Army. I don’t want you to leave my unit.” He couldn’t see the stunned expression because of the dark, but he knew by the silence it was there. “I was wrong. I only wanted to keep you safe, but I was very, very wrong, and I’m sorry.”

 

He waited. For the count of almost one hundred there was nothing but the hum of voices from below and the chirping of the crickets in the scrub. Then came the sullen, “That’s not what you said last night.”

 

“I know,” Hannibal admitted, “and I was wrong.” The silence was back and Hannibal realised that he was going to have to go out on a limb here if anything was going to make a difference to Face. “I was wrong” he repeated. “I wanted to keep you safe, stop you from being hurt again, but all I ended up doing was hurting you even more.” He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he whispered. “It’s all new to me and the way I feel about you, well, it’s so... intense, it fucking scares me.” He opened his eyes and wished he could see the look on his boy’s face, know whether he was getting through at all. “All rules are off on this one, kid, I’ve fallen in love with you. I’ve never been in love before and it’s... terrifying,” he shook his head. “The thought of losing you, like _that_ ,” they both knew that his thoughts were back in Iran, “or like _this_ ,” he laughed a mirthless laugh, “Shit... I don’t know where I’m going, what I’m doing, but I do know I’m so sorry. And I want you back.”

 

The crickets were still chirping away and down below a child was crying but Face kept up his silence so long that Hannibal couldn’t stand it anymore. “Kid?” he prompted and a long sigh split the night.

   

“I’m no good at this type of soul sharing,” Face eventually answered, his voice quiet in the dark. “You’re going to have to tell me what you want from me.”

 

That didn’t sound good and Hannibal’s heart was now thumping painfully in his chest. “I want to know if you’ll come back to me,” he whispered, just deciding to throw it all out there. “Back to my unit, back to my bed, back to my heart. I love you, Face.”

 

Beat.

 

“Yes.”

 

Hannibal stepped forward, his face cracked in a grin of purest relief and happiness, but Face stopped him, firm hands pressing on his chest, “But there is a condition,” he warned.

 

The flare of happiness tempered in Hannibal’s chest but he stood firm, releasing that the kid still wasn’t saying no. “You need to understand that I don’t need to you treat me any different from the others.”

 

“I do.”

 

“I’m not a baby that needs looking after.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I can cope with whatever the job throws at me.”

 

At this Hannibal paused. “Can you?” he asked quietly.

 

“Yes!” the reply was hot and instantaneous and Hannibal realised that this was not the time or the place to pursue the post-mortem of the Iran debacle.

 

“Then you have a deal,” he answered and felt the muscles under his fingers instantly relax. He moved in, arms sliding along Face’s until they were gripping his elbows. “Will you come back to the hotel then?” he whispered. “Let me order some room service and take you to bed?”

 

At those words Face leaned forward until his forehead was resting on Hannibal’s shoulder. “You brought your car?” he asked instead and Hannibal frowned.

 

“The car? Yes, why?”

 

Face let out something that was half a laugh, half a sob, “’Cause I swear, boss, I can’t walk another fucking step on this stupid leg.”  

 

Hannibal instantly pulled away, swearing for real and turning to run his hands over Face’s hip and thigh, “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, the pain choking him as he realised how much agony Face must be in in order for him to admit it like that. “Here, I’ve got your tablets, wait on,” he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the blister pack he’d taken from the bed at the orphanage, popping two tablets out onto Face’s dirty palm. “I haven’t any water on me, if you wait until we-”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Face dry-swallowed them and then stood for a minute, leaning on Hannibal and letting all his weight come off his tender leg.

 

“You want me to carry you?” Hannibal offered cautiously but to his relief Face just laughed.

 

“No, boss, I don’t want you to carry me. Fine pair we’d be, me with my leg and you with a busted back! You’d never be able to carry me.”

 

Hannibal swallowed as his mind flew back to the desperate scramble to the chopper in Iran, Face’s limp and battered body a literal dead weight in his arms. “I’ll help you then,” was all he said and with an arm around Face’s waist, one of the kid’s pulled tight around his neck, they started their long and painful hobble back to the car.

 

______________________

 

By the time they got back to the hotel room, Face was pale and his expression was drawn with pain. Hannibal had left him at the bottom of the trail to go and get his car, but even so, the day he’d had up on his feet had already taken an obvious toll. Hannibal helped him over to the bed then laid him down, easing his legs up onto the duvet and gently pulling sneakers from his feet. “Okay?” he asked softly and Face, eyes closed and fists clenched, just nodded sharply. Hannibal knew that was a ‘no’ but carried on without comment. Once he’d laid Face’s shoes side by side on the carpet, he popped the button of his jeans and gently tugged them down, wincing when he saw the swelling around Face’s hip and knee.

 

“Shelly’s gonna have your ass when she sees this,” he murmured gently, cool finger trailing the heated flesh.

 

“It’s nothing,” Face responded tightly. “It’s just ‘cos I’ve been limping, it’s made my joints a bit sore.” Hannibal knew that ‘a bit sore’ was probably the understatement of the year, but he kept his silence, crossing to the en-suite and wetting two washcloths and squeezing them out before draping them over the worst of the swelling.

 

“Better?” he asked and again the tight nod. “You hungry?” He was moving around the room now, turning down the air con in response to the goose flesh on Face’s legs, drawing the drapes and flicking on the side lamps.

 

“A bit,” the answer was as muted as the light in the room, but the accompanying growl of Face’s stomach told the truth of the tale.

 

Hannibal sighed. “When was the last time you ate?” Face didn’t open his eyes, didn’t answer, just shrugged his shoulders which again answered all of Hannibal’s questions. He didn’t bother to pursue the matter, just quickly scanned the Room Service menu and ordered steak, fries, onion rings, green salad, coleslaw, a couple of cokes and a couple of beers, wondering when he’d get the chance to feed Face on something better than room service. Then, while he was waiting for it to arrive, he sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on Face’s chest, sighing again before the words, “Kid, we really need to talk,” spilt out of him.

 

That got Face’s eyes open, and just for a moment they flicked to Hannibal and were full of so much fear that he could have kicked himself for his carbon copy introduction from the previous night. Face was as good as ever though, and quickly the fear was gone, replaced by that bland emptiness he could do so well. “Sure, whatever you want, boss,” he drawled and Hannibal had to swallow down the equal measures of anger and sorrow.

 

He moved his fingers slightly where they were resting on Face’s chest. “Well, Face, what I want is a conversation with you actually taking part and telling me the truth. I don’t want you just lying there and saying whatever you think I want you to say.” Face’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly but his lips remained stubbornly pressed together. Hannibal ignored the black look and pressed on. “What do you want to do, kid? Once you’re passed fit again?”

 

For a second Face regarded him quizzically, but then the blank expression was back and he just shrugged again, “Whatever,” he muttered.

 

Anger surged up inside Hannibal and the desire to throw Face across the room was almost too strong to ignore, but he knew enough about this skittish boy to realise that that would get them nowhere fast. Instead, he took a deep breath and rested his palm on a pale and stubbled cheek. “Face,” he tried again. “Think about this kid, think about who you are talking to,” Face’s scowl deepened as his eyes drifted to the closed curtains. “I’m the man you’ve served with this past year and a half. I’m the man who knows you. I’m the man who’s been to hell and back with you,” he faltered as he realised that maybe Face’s hell had been significantly worse than his but he pushed on regardless and gently stroked under Face’s eye with the pad of his thumb. “I’m the man who loves you...” And that seemed to work, suddenly Face’s eyes were back on him, as naked as Hannibal had ever seen them and the fear, the hope shining through the tears tore at Hannibal’s heart.

 

“Oh, Face...” he said, leaning closer, feeling his own tears prickling the backs of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I’ve given you reason to doubt me, to doubt my love for you.”

 

Face blinked up at him, the tiniest edges of a frown on his face. “You told me to leave the army,” he whispered, “to leave you, and now you say this. What am I supposed to think?”

 

“I didn’t want that,” Hannibal shot back, “Not really. I only wanted you to be safe.”

 

He held steady as Face scrutinised him, he could almost see the cogs working in the kid’s head as he tried to work out if he could trust this man in front of him. “Are you sure?” he eventually asked. “You sure that’s all it is?”

 

Now it was Hannibal’s turn to frown. “Am I sure? Face... of course I’m sure. What the hell else could I gain from not having you with me?”

 

Face looked away at that, poking at a smudge of dried dirt on his t-shirt as Hannibal waited for him to go on. The silence stretched, then just as Hannibal was giving up on his reply ever materialising, Face spoke again. “Unless you thought I didn’t cut it anymore,” he said quietly. “That I’d embarrassed you out there.”

 

Hannibal closed his eyes and let out a long frustrated breath, opening them again as he frowned - he thought they’d covered this already. “Face, look at me,” he commanded softly and waited until Face’s reluctant eyes were on him. “You didn’t embarrass me, you could never embarrass me,” they stared at each other in silence.  Hannibal knew he’d said that once, shouted it at the boy in a fit of disappointed anger after the Face had been hauled in front of him following the fight in the shower block; he just hoped Face wouldn’t remember that right now.

 

 “What happened back there,” he shook his head; words simply didn’t exist for all he felt about that time. “Well, I should be the one apologising to you,” he said, “for not keeping you safe. You have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to apologise for.” Face looked down at that and Hannibal gently reached out and held his chin, tilting it until they were eye to eye once more.

 

“You were incredible,” he whispered, holding Face’s blue eyes with his own. “You were so strong, stronger than you needed to be – stronger than us as we _did_ break, we all did, _I_ did.” Face frowned at him and Hannibal forced himself to continue, the words almost choking him on their way out. “I broke Face, I told them I’d say anything they wanted, _do_ anything they wanted if only they would stop hurting you.”

 

Face looked appalled, “Boss, you shouldn’t have done _that_.” He shook his head. “In training they-”

 

“I know what they say in training,” Hannibal interrupted him, “but they weren’t there and I was. And I know I would have done anything to save you from that. Anything. Ask Piper, ask any of the boys, they were all there, they all heard me, I’d have done anything for you Face, and I still would.”

 

Silence filled the little room once more, broken by the sound of the door across the corridor opening and closing and muted voices disappearing down towards the elevator. Face didn’t seem to know what to make of Hannibal’s admission, his expression was torn, eyes wet, but lips tight and Hannibal knew he’d have to have time to process what he’d been told, hell, Hannibal still needed time to process what he’d almost _done_.  He pushed it back into his secret little corner and continued with the other things he wanted to say, the things he should have said days ago.

 

“I was so proud of you back there,” he whispered, and blinked as he felt his own eyes fill with water. “And I’m so, _so_ proud of you now, fighting this hard even though I know it hurts.” A smile broke through his tears. “I’m the one who’s sorry Face,” he admitted. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out quicker. I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you while you recovered,” he shook his head ruefully, “I’m sorry I’ve made such a god-awful hash of this week...”   

 

Face stared up at him, his eyes still locked with Hannibal’s. “No, boss,” he whispered. “You have nothing to be sorry for, I’m a soldier,” he shrugged, “that’s what soldiers get.”

 

“No, they don’t, Face,” Hannibal told him firmly. “No one should get that. _No one_.”

 

Silence fell and a single tear finally escaped Face’s control and ran slowly down his cheek and into Hannibal’s fingers. “I am scared though,” he admitted, his voice a scratchy whisper. “I don’t think I could live through that again.”

 

“Oh, God, you’ll never have to,” Hannibal assured him instantly. “I swear to you Face, you’ll never have to. You understand me, kid? Never.”

 

Face just stared at him, the need to believe etched right through his expression. “Even if I do come back with you?”

 

“Especially if you come back with me.” He smiled a tentative smile, “I want you to come back with me Face, as long as you think it’s what’s right for you.”

 

“Being with you is what’s right for me.” Face flushed at the uncharacteristic honesty of his words but kept his eyes on Hannibal who leant in to press a kiss to his forehead. 

 

“It’s right for me too,” he admitted, letting his palm slide down until they were resting on far too-prominent ribs. “And you’re safe,” he promised, “I’ll keep you safe, Face. I swear.”

 

For a moment, Face looked at him, his expression unreadable, but didn’t reply.

 

___________________________

 

They ate, they made love, slow and sweet this time, they showered, and then they fell asleep – or at least Face did. Hannibal lay awake, Face’s warm presence soothing in his arms, and he thought about all that had happened, all that was to come. He realised he’d made a mistake in trying to send the boy away, his boy. Father Magill was right; Face had very little in his life that he valued, and most of it was tangled up in his life with the Rangers. Saving Face from a physical hurt would only cripple him emotionally.

 

He meant what he said to Face – nothing like that would ever happen to him again. There was always a price that could be paid in situations like that, always something that was needed or wanted. If they were ever unlucky enough to find themselves in similar circumstances in the future, Hannibal would pay that price – whatever it was – to keep Face safe, it was the least he could do.

 

Sleep was still a long way off when he felt Face twitch next to him. He looked down at the sleeping body in his arms and recognised the start of a nightmare. They didn’t often get chance to share a bed when they were working, Face still bunked with the boys as they just could not risk anyone finding out about their relationship, but they had managed to scrape enough nights together that Hannibal knew what was coming unless he acted immediately. He twisted on his side and started stroking through short, damp hair, whispering soothingly as he did.

 

“Hey, baby,” he pressed a kiss to Face’s forehead. “Don’t worry, I’m here, I’m always here, I’ll never leave you.” The words tumbled out of his mouth without thought but he knew the truth of them, somehow it was easier to admit it when he knew that Face couldn’t hear. “I love you,” he whispered, “so much. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Go to sleep again, baby boy, I’ve got you, go to sleep my love.” He kept up his soothing words until he felt Face relax against him and then he closed his own eyes, finally letting sleep take him into a new day.

 

________________________

 

Face stood and watched as the huge silver plane rose into the blue sky and took Hannibal away from him again, then, with a heartfelt sigh, he turned and leaned on his stick as he limped across the lot to the taxi stand, wishing his stupid leg was at least healed enough to let him drive. 

 

These last three months had been hard, so much harder than he had ever let on to Father Magill, or Shelly, or any of the nuns or nurses, or even to Hannibal. He doubted that he’d managed to completely pull the wool over Hannibal’s eyes however, or the Father for that matter. He could see it in the way that they looked at him, like they were just waiting to see if he could do it, if he could hold it all together and come out the other side or if he was going to collapse in a heap of feeble uselessness. At times Face had wondered that as well, and knew that if he’d never had anything to come back for, to fight for, then maybe he’d have done just that. But he didn’t, he had his unit, he had his job and, most importantly, he had Hannibal.

 

A smile slid over his face as he eased himself into the rear seats of a cab and sat back as they left LAX behind them. He’d spent a long time over the last few weeks worrying if he’d blown this ‘thing’ he had going with Hannibal, wondering if his weakness in Iran would put an end to the best thing that had ever happened to him. For just a few painful hours he’d thought that it had, that Hannibal had had enough of him and that everything he lived for was going to be snatched away from him, but then it wasn’t and they were back together and Face was trying to believe that it was all going to be okay.

 

He thought back to that whole crazy evening after Hannibal had tracked him to the observatory. Face had been in so much pain he could barely think straight, but Hannibal had broken through all that by telling him he loved him. No one had ever said that to Face before, no one, not even Father David, but by the time they got back to the hotel Face had managed to convince himself that it had been nothing more than a device to get Face to agree to come down off the hillside without making a fuss – it wasn’t like Hannibal had ever responded to Face saying it in the past.

 

But then Hannibal had said it again when they got back to the hotel room and Face found it a little harder to explain away. And then they made love, and Face had fallen asleep and when he stirred, nightmares creeping into his dreams, any remaining doubts were scoured from his mind by the words he could hear; Hannibal’s deep voice, choked with emotion, telling him he was loved, that he was wanted and that Hannibal would keep him close forever. It was like Face’s battered heart finally starting hauling itself back together again and in the back of a grimy taxi his smile widened into a grin. He may still ache all over, his leg might hurt like a bitch, he may be frustrated to all hell with his slow recovery, but now he _knew_ he was going back – back to his job, his friends and, most importantly, his love.

 

He couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of him; for the first time in a long while – life was good. 

 

_____________________________

 

Epilogue

 

Piper walked back to the front of the tent and peered out into the dust swirling through the camp, his eyes narrowed as he stared in vain at the empty track in front of him.

 

“Mannnn, sit down!” Sharkie complained from his place on the floor. “He’ll be here when he’s here. You’re letting all the fucking sand in!”

 

“Like you can tell?” Jonno drawled from behind his girly magazine, “Place is always covered in that shit.”

 

“Yeah?” Sharkie leant forward a little, his black eyes glaring at Jonno, “Well, you’re the _mama de casa_ why don’t you do something about it?”

 

“Knock it off will you?” Bunter didn’t even look up from the report he was writing. “The boss will be pissed enough already with the kid so late without having to work out why you two both have black eyes again.”

 

Jonno still didn’t glance up from his magazine, but Sharkie opened his mouth to protest, an act that was soon forgotten under Piper’s quick shout of, “He’s here!”

 

The three other men in the tent all scrambled to their feet and joined Piper at the flaps, peering through the swirling dust storm to try and pick out the youngest member of their team in the approaching jeep.

 

“Here he comes,” Sharkie muttered in dry affection, “Hannibal’s little runt.”

 

“What if he’s different?” Piper hissed to Bunter, “What if he’s-”

 

“He’s fine,” Bunter cut him off sharply, “Hannibal wouldn’t let him come back if he wasn’t.”

 

Piper nodded but any other conversation was cut off by three figures spilling from the jeep and running through the swirling sand towards the tent. The men at the entrance stepped back as they ducked through the flaps and then Piper tugged them closed again as Gem’s voice rang out behind him. “See who I found out at the airfield?”

 

Face self consciously stepped forward, tugging his Keffiyeh off his head as Bunter grabbed him and roughly embraced him, “Great to see you, Face!”

 

One by one they all took their turn, finishing up with Piper who held on just that little bit longer as he heard Face sniff in his ear.

 

“What were you doing out there, boss?” Bunter asked Hannibal, more to give Face chance to pull himself back together than anything else.

 

“Making sure Gem picked up our package alright,” Hannibal growled, but the men who knew him knew that the growl was to disguise just how glad he was to get Face back with his team.

 

“Package?” Face pulled back from Piper, his eyes only a little wet and stared indignantly at Hannibal, “You referring to me?”

 

Hannibal laughed and pointed to the sides of the tent, “You’d prefer that would you?” he teased and Face turned to the banners strung across the bunk space. One said, “Happy 30th Birthday!” a left over from some distant party, and underneath that, scrawled on sheets of paper tagged to the bottom of the banner were the words, “Our runt.”

 

Face laughed and blinked away the moisture from his eyes, “Don’t see what’s wrong with just ‘Face’...” he muttered and Hannibal laughed tugging him in for a quick hug.

 

“Open the beers!” he commanded, “Let’s get them drunk before Keo arrives or there’ll be none left!” There was a chorus of laughs at that and a surge towards the previously-off-limits ice box. Face however, hung back, wanting that chance for Hannibal’s hand to drift across his butt, the chance to bask in the warm smile and the wink that came his way and, even better, to hear Hannibal’s. “Missed you, Face...” as he reached forward for his own beer.

 

And as he stood in that dusty tent, his clothes already full of sand, the wind howling around outside, death and bullets and danger lurking just over the wire, he took a swig of tepid beer, smiled at his friends and realised, with a blossoming warmth in his chest, that he was finally home.  


End file.
